Before We Go Down
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: Mitchsen: She really doesn't remember how it started (or where or when or why), but she remembers how it felt.
1. Before We Go Down

_Author's Note: _Abundant use of parentheticals ahead, just so you're warned. I'm aware that they're there, but it works for the story, I think.

* * *

**Chapter One: Before We Go Down (by Carter Hulsey)**

Aubrey doesn't remember exactly how it started – this _thing_ she has for Beca.

With Beca.

She doesn't remember who submitted to it first, or the argument that preceded it (and Aubrey is sure that there must have been an argument – there's _always_ argument with Beca – even if she can't quite shape the memory of it in her mind). She doesn't remember the day, or the moment, or how it meticulously twined into every interaction that the two of them shared afterward. And if there was an extra flutter in her belly that didn't quite belong, or maybe a heartbeat that chimed just slightly out of rhythm with the rest of them, Aubrey doesn't remember that, either.

She really doesn't remember how it started (or where or when or _why_), but she remembers how it felt.

It was a hurricane.

(A clichéd description, perhaps, but still the best that Aubrey can offer.

Chloe is the creatively minded one, anyway, Aubrey cedes to herself.)

It felt like the world was drowning out around her, wind stinging across her cheeks and burning her ears and chapping her nose, made worse only by the fierce, wild rain that felt like ice slipping off the ends of her hair and slithering down her spine. It was fury and frustration, and desperately clawing for purchase against something – anything – to keep her sane. To keep her grounded.

It was a hurricane that she'd been granted no warning for, depriving her of the choice to bolt like hell from the danger zone – to just pack her bags and drive somewhere (anywhere else _not there_) and assess the damage that had been done only after the storm blew out, or away, on to terrorize some other hapless stranger. Aubrey hadn't had a choice; her only option had been to hunker down and wait it out.

It had been a hurricane. Followed by another, and another, and yet another, until the disaster left behind became familiar to her; comfortable, in some ways – and comfort_ing_, in most of the others. Which sometimes terrifies her, still.

(It can't be healthy to find such comfort in disaster, Aubrey thinks.)

She knows – Aubrey _knows_ – it wasn't (couldn't have been) as sudden as it had felt. She knows that the rage that trades through their parted lips and the passion that it swiftly smolders into had not been birthed from nothingness. There was something, somewhere, that had fueled it; something must have perpetuated this slow-burning fire until they had no alternative but to let it overwhelm them.

(Aubrey thinks 'overcome' might be more appropriate, because it feels like she's possessed with want and need and lust and unquenchable _avarice_ every time the feeling rises.)

But whatever that something was, Aubrey couldn't find it, then. And when Beca's lips roamed and caught against her throat, flaming an impatient trail down to her collar, Aubrey forgot to look for it. Aubrey always forgets to look for it.

And, after a while, Aubrey stopped caring.

* * *

They never defined it; this _thing_ they share. If Aubrey had to guess, it had been about six months since it started. She knew, at least, that Beca had goaded her into releasing a healthy amount of tension, both sexual and academic, the night before her first exam as a Barden law student back in October, five months ago.

(Aubrey had insisted she just wanted to do well.

Beca had promptly ordered her to shut up and slammed her back against her bedroom door, breathing hot, sufficiently distracting, filthy words against her neck, the DJ's forearms supporting her weight against the door and trapping Aubrey against it with little hope or desire to escape.

Aubrey aced her civil law exam, she found out a week later.

Beca rewarded her hard work and focused efforts with several hours of more intensive stress relief.)

The closest they had come to labeling it had been three weeks ago, announcing to the skeptical, untrusting faces of their friends – the returning Bellas (and the new ones, by default), plus Chloe (a fresh Barden grad student, but somehow much busier than Aubrey, with Nazi-esque professors and daily study groups that she had to attend just to keep up) that they were 'sorta involved,' as Beca had phrased it.

(They had only mentioned it after Denise spotted a dark bruise under Aubrey's ear, and the other Bellas had spent twenty straight minutes badgering Aubrey for details.

Beca had, thankfully, sensed Aubrey's duress, and solved the issue accordingly.)

Aubrey thinks it should bother her – the lack of bold, definite lines to the edges of their relationship – and she thinks maybe that it did, for a time. But for all of her impulsivity and emotional incapacities, Beca is faithful, and honest, and she cares about Aubrey in a way that Aubrey can't grasp or understand or sometimes _believe_, but she mirrors it.

Aubrey cares about Beca that way, too. And it's enough.

It's more than enough.

It's everything.

But after (roughly) six months of sex before casual study sessions, and sex before a casual coffee, and strangely (definitely _not_ casual) meaningful conversations _after_ sex, it startles Aubrey when Beca voices her desire for something… different.

"Are we dating, Aubrey?" Beca hesitates, her fingers stilling for one, awfully telling millisecond in Aubrey's hair before she resumes combing through it with a small tremor that flicks her palm intermittently against Aubrey's scalp, just slightly.

Aubrey takes a moment, but she can't remember if that tremor was there before.

She keeps her head pillowed against Beca's chest, averting her gaze. She isn't sure how to respond. She isn't sure how Beca _wants_ her to respond. So she doesn't – not right away – while she considers.

Despite whatever answer Beca's searching for, the question is an important one.

Assuming Aubrey answers affirmatively ("yes, I'd really like that"), Beca will either metaphorically pack her bags and call it quits, or stubbornly dedicate herself to taking the long haul with Aubrey; if Aubrey answers negatively ("no, I really don't think that's a good fit for us"), Beca will either sigh her abundant relief into the crown of Aubrey's head or grieve for her dashed expectations.

(The silence quickly becomes too much for Beca.

Aubrey should've known that it would be.

She really _should_ have filled the silence with a reply, but she's shaky and a little panicked, and she can't quite figure out if it's because she's afraid of the commitment, or if she's afraid that _Beca's_ afraid of the commitment.)

"You don't have to answer," Beca assures, her voice tight, like she doesn't really mean what she's saying, but is too anxious to wait any longer, and is offering Aubrey an out. "I just- I mean, we've been doing… _this_… for a while now, and it's fine – it's more than fine!" Beca amends hurriedly. "It's good, I think. But, you know, there's usually a point to these things where it stops being- enough, or whatever. And I thought that maybe I should check in and see where we're at, with that…" She pauses. "Or, like, maybe see if this is still, y'know, what you want, or something. I don't know," Beca frets helplessly, and Aubrey feels the DJ's hand – the one not currently tangled between the strands of Aubrey's hair, but its counterpart, curled loosely around Aubrey's shoulder – slip slightly up the length of her arm as the brunette shrugs beneath her.

"Is that what you want?" Aubrey manages to ask eventually.

Something foreign (or, at least, something that _feels _foreign, even though Aubrey's actually very familiar with this heart-stammering anticipation that will either lead to something really good, or something really, shatteringly _awful_) nests in the pit of her stomach while she awaits the brunette's response.

"I'm- okay with how things are," Beca hedges briefly. "But if you wanted more… I mean, I could maybe do that, too."

Perhaps they haven't exactly been 'dating' for six months (at least not conventionally), but Aubrey knows Beca. She's studied her – her reactions, and her words, and her expressions, and her _music _(which is unquestionably the most revealing part of Beca Mitchell, Aubrey thinks, even if no one else can decipher what it means; Aubrey feels irrationally proud of the fact that she _can_).

So Aubrey knows Beca. And she knows what Beca's answer – this whole conversation – really is.

This is Beca, being hopeful. It's a rare thing under any circumstances, because Beca makes it her mission in life not to 'hope' for anything. Not from people.

(Aubrey feels that part is important.

It makes Beca's high expectations for her music career more graspable to Aubrey, because it's easier to hope for success from a talent that you _know_ you have – like Beca and her music – than it is to hope for things from others.

Other people aren't reliable.

Beca's music _is._)

Beca's been disappointed too deeply, and too frequently, by _far_ too many people to easily allow for 'hope.'

But Beca's hoping for something from Aubrey, and no matter how convoluted their relationship may be, Aubrey vowed months ago that she would never become one of _those _people – 'those people' being the group of individuals in Beca's life (her father, soon followed by her mother, then by her first, second, and third lovers) who Aubrey had developed a strong disdain for, and kept carefully isolated in a particularly mutinous, wrathful corner of her mind. 'Those people' habitually offered empty promises to support Beca, and to love her, and, if nothing else, they promised to _stay_.

But none of them did.

Aubrey had promised herself that she would never just leave Beca stranded behind somewhere with nothing but misery to hold for comfort, like so many others had done.

Aubrey thinks maybe it's that promise that encourages her response.

"You'd have to take me on a date for us to actually be 'dating,' Beca," she keeps her voice light and humorous, and it works, because, though she hadn't quite taken notice of the brunette's muscles when they'd tightened up, she could feel them relaxing, now; Beca's shoulders drop, her hand on Aubrey's arm dipping lower, softly trailing into the curve of her elbow, her foot (mingled between both of Aubrey's) gently nudging at Aubrey's ankle.

"Is there a reason that _I_ have to initiate this date?" Beca queries dryly, but there's something else in her words, too; something warm and, Aubrey thinks, content.

Aubrey feels it, too. And maybe it wasn't the promise that she'd made to herself that drew out her blasé response, because she feels… really _good_ about this. Happy with it, even. Like it's right. Like it's something that Aubrey had wanted for herself – for them – and hadn't quite allowed herself to acknowledge that desire.

They'd been toeing the edges of something deeper for months, crossing the lines often, and refusing to retreat to safer places until too many days later, only to start all over again.

Aubrey hadn't felt like they'd been missing anything; she and Beca spoke often (and shared more than they'd planned or sometimes wanted), and they made it a point to see each other almost daily, even just to hangout without sex (which happened very infrequently, Aubrey notes, satisfied); they cuddled (after some strong initial hesitations from each of them that fell to the wayside about a month or two into their arrangement, in favor of physical need and comfort), and they soothed one another after particularly terrible days.

Everything was fine between them. Good, she thinks, just like Beca had said.

But, though Aubrey had previously fought hard against the notion, this promise for something more feels even better. It feels like something has slotted into place, like everything that they'd put on 'pause' now has free permission to progress as it pleases, without doubt or hesitation or hiccup.

"I'm not the one who was unexpectedly bitten by the relationship bug," Aubrey teases, drawing a vague pattern against Beca's bare thigh. "I'll take date number two."

Beca rolls her eyes, and pulls sharply against a strand of Aubrey's hair in reprimand for the quip. Aubrey finally lifts her chin from Beca's chest to glower up at her, but it swiftly dissolves into something fond, instead. Beca's expression is soft, and pleased, and she looks down at Aubrey with gleaming, happy eyes as she sighs affectionately, "You're so high-maintenance, Posen. I really should have taken that under higher consideration before I asked you to date me."

"You didn't ask me to date you," Aubrey plays along with a snort. "All you did was skirt around a question. Very suave, Beca. Really," she jibes.

"It worked, didn't it?" Beca huffs instantly. "Plus, you skirted around an answer, so you're no better."

Aubrey wants to tell Beca that she _is_ better, purely off of competitive instinct, and not for any true, solid reason (especially since Aubrey really believes that, if anything, it's actually the other way around), but she thinks that could probably turn into a pretty heated debate, pretty (disconcertingly) quickly.

Instead, she allows the quiet of the room to answer for her, because they don't do any _real_ arguing in bed; it's their one rule, and aside from fucking out the anger that those arguments were derived from – which they've collectively decided does not _technically_ count as 'arguing' – they adhere to it very strictly.

"It's okay," Beca says quietly, a careful smile lifting at the corners of her mouth. "I like you this way."

Aubrey thinks her heart puddles into some cavity in her ribs, where it definitely doesn't belong. It should probably concern her a little more than it does, but it feels nice – like a hot cup of coffee in the middle of winter, or the heat blasting in the car with the windows down in early spring (which Beca does _all the time_, in spite of Aubrey's ample protests to the blatant squandering of natural resources).

"You're okay," Aubrey shrugs nonchalantly instead, offering an affectionate smile to communicate the true meaning of her words.

(Something that would probably be verbally expressed as, "I think you're incredible," or "I might sometimes be in love with you, like maybe right now.")

Beca chuckles and ducks her head, pleating a gentle kiss across Aubrey's forehead.

Aubrey thinks she swoons a little, but that's both undignified and absurdly, overly sentimental, so she buries the reaction as much as she can, until there's nothing left of it but for the gentle scrape of her nails over Beca's naked hip, and a fierce desire to kiss that tender little smile that she thinks is temporarily stapled into Beca's face.

Aubrey allows herself to cave under that desire, raising her palm to stroke cool fingers against Beca's heated cheek, and arching upward to trace the brunette's lips with her own.

* * *

It's Friday night that they go on their date, and, as Aubrey has become accustomed to, Chloe isn't home when Beca knocks on their door at nine.

(Aubrey catches glimpses of the redhead, mostly from the corners of her eyes as Chloe sprints around the apartment in search of her textbooks; they share greetings and a weekly catch-up session on Sunday afternoons, but Chloe's rarely around unless it's planned and fits snugly into her hectic schedule.

Aubrey thinks that must be why Chloe is still so dubious about the relationship that she and Beca share together. Chloe's never really there to see it. But most of the time, Aubrey's pretty sure that Chloe (and Cynthia-Rose, and Fat Amy, and Stacie, and voiceless Lily, and – well, essentially _everyone they know_) thought that it was a bad joke when she and Beca had confessed to it.

She idly wonders what they'll think when they realize what it's grown into.)

Beca takes her to a nice restaurant – a classy place, with white tablecloths and steak, expensive wines, and soft, classical music echoing mutedly from hidden speakers – but Aubrey can't appreciate it. Not really.

And it's not even her fault.

Beca's wearing a teal number, strapless, with a teasing sweetheart neckline that doesn't _quite_ show anything, but definitely displays what Beca has _available_ to show, and Aubrey thinks it's distracting; only slightly more distracting than the dress' length. The hem falls a few inches above Beca's knees, but 'falls' is really a generous word, because Aubrey doesn't think it does much of that at all; it mostly just clings, and shapes around thighs that Aubrey is now distinctly remembering being hugged around her hips the night before.

Aubrey's outfitted pretty nicely, too – a black halter dress, with a respectable, but plunging neckline, that ends somewhere around her own knees, and it's significantly looser around the skirt than her lover's, with a subtle bow tied across the front with the ribbon of material that belts around her waist – but, even as confident as she feels about her appearance (because she'd worked at it for _hours_ that afternoon), Aubrey feels like nothing could hold a candle to Beca tonight.

She's pretty sure of that, until after their drinks arrive, and her gaze trails sluggishly up from Beca's throat (Aubrey wants to mark it, _badly_), and meets with her date's.

(Aubrey withholds a Chloe-like squeal when she mentally celebrates the notion that, yes, Beca Mitchell is her _date _for the evening.)

Beca's looking at her bashfully, a dull, pink flush coloring her cheeks, but she smiles, slow and soft (a smile that Aubrey _knows_ only she is privy to), and her eyes twinkle like nothing outside of a Disney movie ever has a right to as she earnestly murmurs, just above a whisper, "You know you look amazing, right?"

"Thank you," Aubrey blushes, but ignores it as well as she can manage. "You look… beautiful, Beca."

It's true. She's told Beca before, with the brunette naked, lying pliantly beneath her (a rare occurrence), while Aubrey ghosts muted fingers across hot, desperate skin, on nights where the line between 'friend' and 'dedicated lover' had inescapably, irrefutably been breached; but Aubrey hasn't ever told Beca how stunning she thinks she is outside of the bedroom.

Beca grins nervously, and flits her fingers absently at the waist of her dress. "Yeah? Not too much?"

"If anything," Aubrey finds herself purring in a voice she isn't actually sure that she's ever used before, and hadn't previously been aware that she possessed, "it's too little."

(Aubrey means it.

All that skin made available for her viewing pleasure makes it hard for Aubrey to breathe, let alone converse.)

Beca swallows thickly. "Don't do that, Posen," she glares. "We're making it through this dinner even if it kills us."

Feeling bold, Aubrey replies flirtatiously, "If you insist. But I have a few other- appetites that I'd be happy to let you satisfy, instead."

Beca frowns.

Aubrey's startled by it, because she'd expected… something else, even if she wasn't exactly sure what it was. Maybe something dirty, or teasing, or promising, but something that Aubrey knows was _not_ a frown.

"Do you want to leave?" Beca asks, gesturing vaguely toward the exit. "We can, if you want," she rushes, her cheeks turning dark with what Aubrey can now identify as severe embarrassment.

"Oh, Beca," Aubrey says soothingly, reaching out her palm to rub softly against Beca's forearm, now resting tensely against the table. "No. I'm happy that we're doing this."

"You're sure?" Beca asks, lifting her brows.

(Aubrey does _not_ feel her heart ache when Beca's eyes flit searchingly across her face for any hint of deception.

But maybe she does, just a little, because it _does_ actually break her heart some. She knows that Beca's asking because that would be exactly the kind of back-and-forth, up-and-down, there-then-absent behavior that Beca has learnt from the people who have claimed feelings for her in the past, and Beca's become accustomed to accommodating it.

Aubrey hates them, in that moment.

… More than usual.)

"Let's be honest, Beca," Aubrey tries for a smile, trailing her fingers lightly down to Beca's wrist, "we've been half-dating for months now. If I didn't want to be here with you, I would've stopped spending time with you a long time ago."

Beca evaluates her for another moment, then smirks confidently (Aubrey doesn't understand the mercurial nature of Beca's emotions, but she's happy enough to be able to pick them out, even if she can't comprehend the quickness with which they descend) and says, "Good. Because after dinner," she leans closer – and, by instinct, Aubrey does, too – to whisper, "I fully intend to tear that dress off and satisfy every appetite you can think of."

Aubrey blinks. Twice.

That was what she'd expected, before – but Beca was always really good at exceeding expectations. And maybe the words were anticipated, but the hardly-stifled desire behind them surprises Aubrey, and the brunette's breath, coasting along her cheek, feels heavy and warm, and everything around her feels so much thicker.

"I look forward to that," Aubrey says, trying to keep her tone easy and coquettish, but she can hear the crack that hitches midway through, and if the deepening smirk on Beca's face is anything to go by, her date could hear it, also.

Conversation thereafter is easy and fluid, and kept on a tight, PG-13 leash, because Aubrey's now determined to make it through dinner for Beca, and if she's faced with any more flirting like that, she's pretty positive that she'll be compromising those intentions.

But even without the flirting, this is different than any of the 'first' dates that Aubrey's been on, because this really _isn't_ their first; it's probably their thousandth.

Aubrey already knows Beca. And, though it had made her uneasy to realize it a couple months prior, Aubrey had eventually settled herself comfortably with the fact that Beca knows _her_.

They aren't testing the waters or feeling each other out; they're here because they know each other, deeply, and in ways that few others do, and they want _more_. More definition, more clarity, more freedom to act without having to filter every motion through whatever it was that determined whether or not their behaviors would be misinterpreted or unwelcome, given the vague status of their relationship.

This is Aubrey and Beca, in their most open form, sharing company with each other.

Aubrey tries not to let that thought get away from her, but she can't really help that it makes her smile. She wasn't lying; she's truly, honestly _happy_, right here with Beca, and she can't actually remember ever enjoying herself so much.

When the waiter takes their plates away some time later, Beca asks if Aubrey wants dessert.

(But Aubrey's been eyeing the fold of Beca's mouth around her water glass all evening, and that taunting cut of her dress hasn't gotten any more modest, despite that it's appropriate attire for the establishment.

Aubrey doesn't care.

It captures her interest, anyway, and she's had a really hard time keeping her eyes on Beca's face, tonight.

She's had a drastically more difficult time keeping her mind from venturing into thoughts about all that exposed flesh, and what she wants to do to it.

Aubrey definitely doesn't want dessert.)

"I have other things I'd rather be doing right now, Beca," Aubrey confesses quietly. "Not that this hasn't been wonderful, but- I'm really ready to go home," she says meaningfully, momentarily immobilizing Beca with a heavy look that Aubrey _knows_ is dark and needy.

Beca takes the check before Aubrey can even spot it being lowered to the table.

(Aubrey wonders for a second how much money Beca is shelling out for this, and falls a little further for the brunette, because she _knows_ it can't be cheap, with the Pinot Noir and the shrimp appetizers – Aubrey carefully avoided the garlic dipping sauce, and, she noted with amusement, Beca did, too – and the crab cakes that Aubrey had ordered, after deciding that she was really feeling the seafood vibe.

She probably should've taken Beca's bank account into consideration when she'd ordered, Aubrey thinks sheepishly, but it hadn't occurred to her before.)

Aubrey's eyes hone in on Beca's when the brunette's lips part to speak, but Aubrey isn't prepared for what she says.

"You have no idea what I want to do to you right now, Aubrey," Beca whispers, like it's a surprise to her, too, how desperately she wants Aubrey, right then.

Aubrey can't respond. She wants to (really, _really_ wants to), but she can't fight through the arousal that shocks through her body long enough to actually find the words that she needs.

She's fortunate that the waiter returns, then, with Beca's receipt, and the DJ quickly signs it, not bothering to properly calculate a tip and scribbling a hefty, exorbitant sum on the empty line that will definitely make their waiter's night.

(Yes, Aubrey can see the meal's total, now – and she wonders how the two of them could possibly have consumed over a hundred dollars worth of food in one sitting.)

Beca's fingers slot comfortably, but unfamiliarly into the gaps between Aubrey's, and she squeezes once, glancing up at Aubrey with a look that essentially asks, "Is this okay?" before Beca can even voice it aloud.

But when she does, Aubrey smiles, and nods shyly. "I guess we're dating now, right?" She laughs airily. "Which makes hand-holding acceptable."

"I mean, I _did_ take you out. That was the deal, right?" Beca chuckles.

"Mm," Aubrey hums as Beca's cheek tucks, just for a moment, against her uncovered shoulder (it was an unusually warm night, for March). "It was. And now that we're going home," she husks, tipping her head sideways just slightly to tickle her next words into Beca's ear, "I'd really like to fuck my girlfriend."

Beca inhales sharply through her nose and jerks her head away, pulling her fingers from Aubrey's with almost startling force.

(Aubrey tries very hard not to mimic Beca's all-but-trademarked smirk.)

Beca doesn't say anything until they get to the car, snapping her keys from her silver clutch and wrenching the passenger door open in a way that actually makes Aubrey feel satisfied with the sturdiness of the door's hinges.

"Get in the damn car, Aubrey," Beca says impatiently. "I'm taking you home."

It sounds almost angry, but Aubrey knows this tone; it comes right before some really intense bedroom endeavors, and Aubrey's learned to feel shameless, lustful anticipation as soon as she hears it.

* * *

_Author's Note (Part Deux): _Let me know what you think, guys. This is going to be short (I mean it, this time; three, maybe four chapters – and I've already finished the second and most of the third), because I'm working on Sixteen Days, too, and I'm kind of too in love with that story to escape writing the next chapter, soon.


	2. Dress On

_Author's Note:_ This chapter's longer, but the next one (and the new update for Sixteen Days, which I started last night) will be a few days, because my girlfriend's sister is in town with her kids, and they get super upset with me when I ignore them for the computer. I'll try to get the next one out Monday, but I make no promises.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Dress On (by Justin Timberlake)**

Naturally, Aubrey groans and is inordinately displeased when Beca's phone rings two minutes into their drive home.

It's Fat Amy, but Beca doesn't answer.

(Despite that Aubrey's intrinsically pleased with this, she chides Beca, just in case it was an emergency.

Aubrey doesn't mean it.

Whatever emergency there may be, she's sure that it can wait until _after_ she's ravished every inch of charming Beca Mitchell, because if they tend to the emergency first, they might not be in the mood for such activities afterward, depending on the severity of it.)

Unfortunately, Beca's phone – now in Aubrey's lap – rings a second time. Beca frowns when Aubrey tells her that it's Cynthia-Rose, but she still doesn't answer.

(Aubrey happily lowers her palm over Beca's thigh after that, and releases a satisfied chuckle when Beca's hands white-knuckle around the steering wheel.

Beca flashes a brief, frustrated look at Aubrey from the corner of her eyes.

Aubrey smiles, and slips her fingers higher.)

When Beca's phone chimes for a third time, no more than sixty seconds later, Aubrey rolls her eyes, thrusts the phone forward, and demands, "Answer it, Beca, so that we can get whatever this is out of the way before we get back."

Beca sighs, but nods and swipes her thumb across the screen of her phone to pick up the call.

Aubrey hears her snap, "_What_, Stacie?" into the phone, and tucks the inside of her cheek between her teeth to hide the pride that just swelled within her. Maybe it's expected, at this point, but it thrills her (every goddamn time, but especially now, tonight) to bear witness to the effect she has on Beca.

Aubrey loses track of the conversation quickly, busy eyeing the curve of Beca's jaw, and the lines of her cheeks, and (Aubrey can't help it) the slim, pale length of her neck, but she smashes into swift awareness when she hears Beca snarl, "_Now? _No. Stacie, no. Just… _no_."

It's a stammered cluster of semi-sentences, but it's vehement, and the message is clear: whatever Stacie is doing – the Bellas as a whole, if the numerous phone calls were anything to go by – Beca wants it to _stop_.

Moments later, Beca releases a strangled cry of annoyance, before growling, "_Damn _it! She hung up on me!"

"What is it, honey?" Aubrey tries to ask soothingly.

She's a little surprised by the term of endearment (she hadn't meant to voice it; they sometimes slip away from her, when she's with Beca, but it feels like it carries more weight, now), but Beca pauses, and her frown fades, and she looks up at Aubrey with a blank face, but for eyes that shimmer with pure adoration.

Aubrey smiles gently, comforted by Beca's reception of her affection, and urges again, "What happened?"

Beca abruptly scowls again. "Fucking _Bumper_ happened!"

Bumper Allen, after a failed, two-month-long voyage in LA (which Aubrey gleefully – and only slightly sadistically – attributes to karma), returned to Barden for his senior year, and had been terrorizing the Trebles over the loss of the ICCAs last spring ever since, hackling Beca and the other Bellas with promises that it wouldn't happen again.

"I guess there was some party tonight," Beca sighs out her anger, her shoulders deflating, "and Bumper threw down a challenge or something. So now the Bellas are all congregating at _your_ apartment – for reasons only sarcastically specified as, 'we thought you might be gettin' some' – and demanding an impromptu rehearsal so that we can kick his ass at some St. Patrick's Day thing tomorrow night."

Aubrey clenches her teeth and inhales through nose, shoulders cramping, almost, with the quickness of the frustration that coils in her muscles.

"_No_."

(Aubrey can't get out much more than that.

Judging by the renewed irritation that twitches just above Beca's right brow, Aubrey is pretty sure that she doesn't need to.)

"That's what I said," Beca huffs. "But Stacie said they were there, and that Amy found the spare key under the mat, so they'll see us when we get back. And then she _hung up on me_," Beca sulks, sounding offended.

"Beca," Aubrey tries to keep her voice steady, but her hand tightens around Beca's leg, and the brunette hisses inward when Aubrey's nails dig into the skin there, "the Bellas mean a lot to me – "

"Trust me, I've known that since the day I met you, Aubrey," Beca grouses, checking her right side mirror before slipping into the exit lane.

(Aubrey narrows her eyes for a moment and curves the tips of her fingers enough to mildly intensify the sharp carving into Beca's right thigh, but otherwise allows the comment to slide.)

" – but I really need an empty apartment right now," she finishes resolutely.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Aubrey," Beca frowns, glancing nervously down at her leg before averting her eyes back to the road. "I _tried_ to tell them, but they aren't listening, and I – "

"Beca, I know," Aubrey relents a little. "But we need to get them out, and fast, so that I can get you out of that unbelievably flattering dress, alright?"

"Uh…" Beca says (so poetically, Aubrey thinks with dry fondness). "Alright."

"So whatever they're looking for, just give it to them, and get them out," Aubrey instructs gently.

Beca nods, swallows, and remains silent for the rest of the drive.

They pull in about five minutes later, and Beca softens Aubrey again by opening the car door for her. Aubrey reaches for her hand, this time, and Beca smiles thinly, but squeezes Aubrey's fingers lightly before detangling them. Beca props the door to the apartment open with her arm and ushers Aubrey inside with gentle pressure at the base of her spine.

(Aubrey's fairly certain that such an innocent gesture should neither promote nor warrant the rush of heat that slinks outward from Beca's palm at her back, and skids up to her neck until everything inside her feels like fire.)

"Captain!" Fat Amy declares, throwing excited arms into the air. "Former captain!" She cries again, hurling forward and scooping her arms around Aubrey's waist.

(Amy always does this, though Aubrey isn't really sure why.

She was initially told that Beca has 'DO NOT APPROACH' practically stamped across her forehead, and that Fat Amy needs some authority figure for the Bellas to rain her physical affections upon – but Beca told Aubrey a week later that no one had told Fat Amy that Aubrey and Chloe were returning to Barden after graduation.

Beca thinks Amy feels very fondly for Aubrey, and that makes Aubrey smile, because she's pretty fond of Fat Amy, too. They'd formed a quick bond at the activities fair the previous year, and had become fairly close with their frequent exposure to one another.

But Aubrey's pretty sure that the Tasmanian's extra enthusiasm tonight can be attributed to the tequila that she can smell on Fat Amy's breath.)

When Amy pulls away, several seconds after Aubrey's returned embrace had dwindled into awkward, we-should-separate-now pats against the other blonde's shoulders, Beca announces, "Alright, nerds, let's get this over with, so you can all go home."

"No, no, no," Stacie insists, licking her lips and eyeing Beca appreciatively.

Aubrey recognizes the possessiveness that instantly settles in her gut, but she rolls her eyes and wills it away upon remembering that this is _Stacie_, who makes basically all of her life decisions with her vagina.

(She's not as forgiving when she catches Cynthia-Rose doling out a similar look. Cynthia-Rose almost withers under the strength of Aubrey's ensuing glare, and Aubrey feels satisfied when shock flares in the darker girl's expression, soon after.

She'd tried to tell them that Beca was off the lesbian market. It's not her fault if they didn't believe her, Aubrey thinks.)

"Let's talk about that _dress_," Stacie presses impishly. "_Both_ of them! You guys look _hot_. Where did you just come from?"

"Yeah," Fat Amy agrees. "It must've been important, 'cause I even left my dingo mating cry on Little Bit's voicemail, and she always comes right away when I make it!"

"Because every time you make it," Beca grits out, aggravated, "you're usually passed out on some fratdouche's floor and desperately in need of a shower and some Advil."

"Mm, yeahhh," Fat Amy hesitates, "but that could've happened this time, too, and you didn't answer, DJ! You should really take better care of us than that," she chides with faux-earnestness.

"Oh my God," Beca breathes incredulously. "Look, we went out, we're back now, we'd like the apartment, so handle this yourselves and _get the hell out!_"

Lily mutters something quiet that sounds vaguely like, "Excuse me, bitch, there's no need to shout," when it whispers near Aubrey's ear, so she snorts and scoffs and wraps her arm around Beca's in a small effort to calm her.

(It takes a lot of work.

Aubrey feels it, too – the desperation, the need, the desire to sate themselves and cement the dynamic revolution in their relationship with touch and taste and sound and something like love, that they maybe weren't ready to voice quite yet – so she isn't sure how to relax Beca when she can't quite manage it for herself, either.)

"Since when do _you_ want to bail on rehearsal?" Jessica teases with a playful chuckle, but she silences immediately when Beca scowls at her.

"We just need a new song," Ashley says, hurrying to Jessica's aid in the face of her friend's discomfort, "to sing tomorrow night, at the competition."

"And we can't find one in the morning?" Beca drawls wryly.

"No, we need to rehearse it tonight, aca-bitch, so handle your toners – "

"We're _trying_," Aubrey snaps out in tandem with Beca, whose mouth twitches for a second into something that could have curved into a smile, if Beca wasn't currently putting every intimidating bone in her body to productive use, but Beca hugs her fingers around Aubrey's wrist to express her amusement, instead.

" – and get it together long enough to captain your team!" Fat Amy beams proudly at her own demand.

Beca diminishes that look with a well-executed, deadpanned expression, and Aubrey lowers her head to hide her answering smirk.

For all of her shyness and insecurities, Beca kind of _is_ a badass, with her distinctly standoffish demeanor, eagerness to punch out strangers for her friends, and a glower that could sometimes – very rarely – subdue even Aubrey, if Beca's adamant enough about it.

(She'd teased Beca about her lack of badassery often, because sometimes it truly did seem absent, but Aubrey's being abruptly reminded of it now.

Aubrey's almost uncomfortable with how hot it makes her feel.)

"I wouldn't _have_ to be doing any captaining right now, if _you_ lovely, irritating losers hadn't gotten us into this mess to begin with," she says, with calmness that Aubrey can feel in Beca's muscles is definitely _not there_. "But, fine, if we need a song, let's do this."

"Thanks, Beca," Cynthia-Rose tries sincerely, earning a mildly softened look from Aubrey in return. "We just wanna put the Trebles in their place, is all."

Beca nods her appreciation for the sentiment, and wanders into Aubrey's room to pull out her computer bag.

(Most of the Bellas – but not the newer ones, Peyton and Jane, who can't possibly grasp the significance of it – look surprised when Beca emerges from Aubrey's room with her most prized possessions in tow, her headphones clipped between her fingers as she lowers her laptop to coffee table.

Aubrey thinks they're beginning to understand.)

Some time later, Aubrey's situated in the corner of the couch, legs folded at the knee, frowning as she realizes that she and Beca haven't contributed anything to this raucous discussion at all.

Aubrey tries not to participate in Bella affairs unless asked (she isn't the captain anymore, after all), and usually Beca's adamant about devoting her energy to the Bellas whenever necessary – but Beca's hardly said a word from her spot on the floor near Aubrey's feet, and she doesn't look ready to share her thoughts with the group any time soon.

When Fat Amy shouts out another ridiculous proposal, Aubrey huffs, and thinks that whether they're adhering to traditional set lists or not, "Land Down Under" is not a song that the Barden Bellas will _ever_ publicly perform.

(Aubrey announces something to that effect, and is quick to tack on that if it should occur, they had best be dancing over her grave when it happens.

_Not_ at her funeral, she feels the need to clarify, when Fat Amy concedes a little too easily to the suggestion.)

Fat Amy huffs back and mutters something low (and probably spiteful) in reply, but Aubrey can't focus on listening, and has to let the conversation escape her.

Aubrey can't focus on listening, or on anything else, because Beca leans a little against Aubrey's crossed knees, and curls her fingers loosely around Aubrey's ankle, dangling in the air several inches from the ground, and bare but for the strap securing a dark blue heel to Aubrey's foot. Aubrey swallows, _hard_, and tries not to bring attention to herself, or the sudden, violent quake in her hands.

She just tries to ignore that the touch is happening at all.

(It doesn't work.

It doesn't work, because, when she chances a glance down at Beca, her lover's eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and she's watching her own fingers, barely coasting along the thin buckle of Aubrey's shoe, reverently climbing upward.

Aubrey's breath hitches. She looks around, but no one notices.

Beca's fingers keep climbing.)

"I think we should sing something dirty," Stacie suggests with a wolfish grin.

"You _would_ think that," Fat Amy remarks dryly.

Stacie rolls her eyes and tries to respond, but Cynthia-Rose cuts her off, and sensibly supplies, "I mean, we wanna do something fun that a bunch of drunk and horny college kids will approve of. It's not a bad idea."

Stacie nods smugly in reply.

"That's fine," Jane agrees wearily. "Seriously guys, it's, like, almost midnight and we haven't even picked out a song yet, so let's just figure this out."

Aubrey can't possibly agree more.

Beca's fingers are tripping up her shin now – dancing, almost, with small, fluttery caresses and pivots – and the DJ hasn't taken her eyes off Aubrey's leg in literal _minutes_.

Aubrey wants it; wants _this_ – more of it; more of these gentle, stroking caresses, more of the wonder and affection behind Beca's eyes, more of the satisfaction, more of the fire roiling in her stomach, more of _Beca_. She wants to feel it, all of it, and though she's positive that it isn't intentional, Beca's teasing her with glimpses of what the night is supposed to be – what it _will_ be, Aubrey resolves, as soon as they can escape the company of their friends – and Aubrey's mind has given up on rational thought (on any thought at all), and her lungs are trying to follow suit, threatening to quit on her altogether.

She thinks it's as torturous as it can get – being where she is, desperately trying not to succumb to Beca's attentions; desperately trying to keep silent and unresponsive. Aubrey doesn't think she could possibly be put in a more difficult situation.

(Beca proves her wrong.

Aubrey hates that Beca's always doing that so effortlessly.)

Beca winds her hand beneath Aubrey's leg until her fingertips are decorating the tiny, almost indiscernible veins that line her calf, and she creases her mouth just once over Aubrey's kneecap.

Aubrey thinks Jessica's seen it, because the sandy-haired girl's eyes widen, and she swallows before quickly turning her surprised gaze somewhere to the left, where Aubrey's pretty sure Denise is speaking.

But a moment later, no one is speaking.

No one is speaking at all, because Beca's singing, something soft and haunting and deeply sincere, and the words melt into small, paced breaths that splash across the bend behind Aubrey's knee.

_There's something about your body  
I'm not in a rush  
But girl I'm ready to marry you  
Yeah right here in this restaurant  
And start on our honeymoon  
While you still got your dress on  
While you still got your dress on_

Aubrey shivers.

Beca's voice is kryptonite to her; she'd spent more hours than she could count expressing her appreciation for it, after hearing Beca's quiet alto absently hum and fold words around a melody or several as she toiled away at her homework, or a new mix.

Aubrey doesn't shiver again; she _trembles_ – something different entirely, because a shiver ends, after a chill or short burst of emotion.

(But Aubrey trembles, and it doesn't end.)

_Now I ain't trying to offend nobody  
But girl don't they see you  
It's cool if they don't  
'Cause hey I only see me and you  
That's why I'm all over you  
While you still got your dress on  
While you still got your dress on_

Aubrey can't catch up. She can't feel embarrassed, or exposed; she can't see the Bellas' eyes bulging, or hear the startled whispers that echo around the room. (Aubrey doesn't even think she'd care if she _could_ hear them.)

She's grateful – or she should be, but, actually, she misses it – when Beca draws to a slow, dazed halt, sensing the silence around her and conforming accordingly.

Aubrey thinks she hears Stacie huskily mutter something that sounds like, "Hey, yeah, _that_ works."

(Aubrey doesn't care.

She doesn't care about her friends or the Bellas' reputation or anything at all except touching Beca Mitchell, but she stifles it – just barely, just enough – to quickly rise from the sofa and excuse herself to the kitchen.

Aubrey doesn't care that they snicker behind her when she goes, either.)

She braces her still-trembling hands around the sink, pep-talks herself – she can do this; she is not an adolescent _boy_, for Christ's sake, she is an adult woman with dignity and restraint and _composure_ – and when it fails, she tries to wash cold water over her face to jolt herself out of the fog; the thick desire that's taken over every part of her body that Aubrey's aware of, and several more that she doesn't frequently acknowledge.

(Her ankle should _not_ still be this warm.

Aubrey's sure of it.)

Aubrey stays there, still, unable to face a crowd, even of her friends; unable to face Beca if she can't do something, anything, to alleviate the ache that's building and broiling and burning hot in her core.

She just stays there. Still.

She isn't sure how much time passes, and she thinks she hears some singing happening in the living room, but Aubrey's too deep in her own head to process it.

Until, eventually, a pair of familiar, pale arms slip around her waist, and slide, tauntingly slow, down the front of her dress until soft palms meet with Aubrey's bare thighs. Aubrey gasps sharply – quiet and brief, but _there_ – her eyes watering with desperation (ridiculous, Aubrey thinks), and she tries to turn around – to tell Beca to _stop_, that she _needs_ to stop – but Beca won't let her.

Beca keeps her locked face-front, pressing every luscious curve of her small, slim figure into Aubrey's back until Aubrey's hips are pinned to the counter.

_I can't wait  
'Cause girl as soon as I look at your face  
I see a world where our heart never breaks  
To me that means that the whole world could change but not mine  
I can't wait_

Aubrey whimpers helplessly and drops her head back until it's almost beside Beca's.

(It's not her fault, she tells herself.

It's Beca's _voice_, there again, but so much closer; so much hotter, coating damp breath beneath Aubrey's ear, and turning her on harder than Aubrey's ever felt in her entire damn life.

And it's the words, the devotion she can hear behind them, the promise that Beca sees between the two of them, and the future that she wants for them. It almost literally floors Aubrey, because her knees give in the moment that the deeper meaning of this particular song – and Beca's reasons for thinking of it, aside from the obvious – descends upon her.)

Beca's hips press harder into hers to keep her standing, and her lips flutter against the tender flesh behind Aubrey's ear as she sings, delivering flushed color to Aubrey's cheeks until it spills down her neck, beneath the lines of material holding her dress in place.

Aubrey whimpers again.

_The way I know your body  
I don't really need much  
Girl I know where to touch  
Just stay where you are  
Drop all your worries  
And you can leave all the rest on  
We can do it  
While you still got your dress on_

Beca's fingers dip just slightly under the hem of Aubrey's dress, her fingertips skimming upward, scarcely even touching her at all, and lifting the material higher. Aubrey thinks she moans out something low and soft and barely there, but there's blood pounding in her ears, and Beca's still singing, too, so Aubrey can't hear, and she can't be sure.

(She couldn't be sure.

But suddenly she is, because Beca's voice fractures minutely over the lyrics, and Aubrey knows that she must have released a sound, because Beca's responding to it.

Beca always responds to sound.)

"Beca," Aubrey breathes on a shuddered sigh.

She thinks there's more; more to say, or more to do, or just… _more_, but if there is, Aubrey can't fathom it. All that exists is Beca, cradling Aubrey in her arms and gliding her fingers higher up Aubrey's thighs, practically whispering the descant to a song that Aubrey's never heard before, but will never (_ever_) forget.

_Now I ain't trying to offend nobody  
But girl don't they see you  
It's cool if they don't  
'Cause hey I only see me and you  
That's why I'm all over you  
While you still got your dress on  
While you still got your dress on_

"Uh… So, we're gonna go…"

Beca jerks around, her palms brushing guiltily under Aubrey's dress until they aren't touching any longer, and, despite the interruption, Aubrey wants that touch back.

(Aubrey thinks she could probably shamelessly murder Cynthia-Rose with the kitchen knife in the block behind her right now, and defend her own actions in court with 'temporary insanity inflicted by intense, unsatisfied arousal.'

She wonders if she'd win.

There must be a juror or twelve who could sympathize with her position…)

"Great," Beca hoarsely replies, several moments past the acceptable span of time that would have allowed her answer to remain casual. "Rehearsal at eleven," she declares shortly.

"Yeah… Um…" Cynthia-Rose hesitates, chuckling awkwardly under her breath and scratching the back of her head. "So, you guys are really doing this, huh?"

Aubrey rolls her eyes and swiftly loses patience. "What does it look like?" She snaps unforgivingly.

Cynthia-Rose gulps audibly, and Beca breaks from her arousal just long enough to smirk.

"Lock the door behind you," Aubrey grants the intimidated Bella some reprieve (because she can acknowledge that, in spite of her frustration, forcing the girl to flounder for an answer might just be a little too mean), but pitches her a pointed, demanding look until Cynthia-Rose scurries through the doorway with a hasty, 'see ya,' thrown over her left shoulder.

Aubrey wants nothing more than to collapse into Beca the moment that Cynthia-Rose is gone, and feel every inch of the brunette curve around her body, but Aubrey doesn't move.

She can't move.

She isn't sure why Beca's not moving, either, but when she looks at the DJ, Beca's swiping her bottom lip with her tongue and indiscreetly, slowly dragging her eyes down the length of Aubrey's figure. Aubrey has to grapple for the edge of the countertop just to keep herself upright, clenching her fingers around it until her knuckles actually ache from the pressure.

Aubrey squirms, no more than two inches worth of distance keeping her parted from her lover, but she still can't shift forward.

It isn't until the distant noise of the door slamming shut puddles through her unreceptive brain that Aubrey realizes what Beca was waiting for, because, while Aubrey still feels frozen – cold without Beca's hands on her, stuck in place, yearning for nothing more than the flame of Beca's touch to summon her into motion – Beca surges forward.

(Aubrey thinks her back might bruise from the force with which Beca knocks her into the counter.

She also thinks that she really doesn't care at all.)

Beca's lips find Aubrey's instantly, and Aubrey tries to match pace, but Beca's kiss is fury and speed and passion and heat, and Aubrey's still thawing, so her responding kiss is just as passionate, but sloppy, and breathless.

It doesn't bother Beca. The brunette slides her mouth along the line of Aubrey's jaw, curling her fingers around Aubrey's hips so hard that the material of her dress feels taut, and maybe like it could rip with just a pull or two more in the wrong direction.

(Aubrey thinks she really wouldn't care much about that, either.)

"God, I want you," Beca whispers across her cheek.

Aubrey groans, the noise vibrating in her throat even as a block of emotion (of want and pride and affection) settles within it, preventing actual words from forming.

Aubrey feels one of her arms slink upward to drape loosely around Beca's neck as she arches her own to the right, freeing up space for Beca to keep going, to keep kissing, to keep heating and shifting and pulling against her skin.

"Then take me," Aubrey rasps tremulously, the moment she's able, her fingers tugging at the ends of Beca's hair for some reason that she can't immediately isolate, but she thinks she's probably pleading for more.

Beca releases a strangled growl from somewhere low in her chest, but Aubrey doesn't really have time to feel anything but a sharp pang of need in her gut before the deceptively strong brunette rings her arms abruptly around Aubrey's waist and hoists her up, and Aubrey's legs instinctively twine around Beca's hips, locking at her ankles.

The DJ has to shift a couple feet to the left to find a spare space of countertop, but Aubrey doesn't notice. She closes her mouth over Beca's, feeling warm enough, now – God, so warm – to adequately respond to and mimic Beca's attentions. She throws herself into it, dedicating her mouth to loving Beca's, tonguing all the caverns of her mouth that still feel unexplored, despite that Aubrey's thoroughly searched them many times over.

Beca's feet stumble when Aubrey's free hand rises to brush feverish fingers across the weak place beneath the brunette's ear, but Beca quickly recovers, spinning slightly but swiftly to lower Aubrey onto the counter.

(Beca's arms pull her closer – so close that Aubrey doesn't know where, or who, this sweltering heat is coming from, only that it's there, and demanding things from them that they can't possibly get around to fast enough – until Aubrey's dress rides up to her hips and her center presses against Beca's stomach.

Her legs don't unfurl from Beca's waist.

Aubrey is almost positive that Beca doesn't mind.)

Aubrey's hips grind against Beca of their own accord just seconds later, and Beca hisses inward – a noise that sounds almost like pain – and Aubrey knows that Beca is riding this with her; this renewed desire to relearn everything – the curve of breasts, the arch of hips, the feel of warmth and sweat and breathy whispers against damp hair clinging to temples and necks and the lines of their shoulders.

Aubrey tears her mouth away to release a gasp when Beca's quick fingers slip up her thighs again, not bothering with further foreplay (God, they'd had more than enough of that), to flatten her palm over Aubrey's clit.

"Beca!" Aubrey cries, her arm jerking Beca tighter until the brunette's neck rests in the crook of Aubrey's elbow, marginally restricting Beca's range of movement and holding the DJ so close that Aubrey thinks she might melt into her, while her other hand loops under Beca's arm and grasps for purchase at her shoulder, clawing frantically against the exposed flesh.

"Fuck, I love it when you scream for me," Beca murmurs, drawing her mouth down Aubrey's neck to latch onto her collar with her teeth as she applies pressure with her palm.

Aubrey hips jerk forward as the combined sensations of Beca's words and actions subdue her, and she moans when her center grinds into Beca's abdomen again, unable to squelch the noise and far beyond caring enough to try.

"Oh, God," Aubrey whooshes on a breath that was never fully formed. "Beca," she tries, licking her lips to quench the dryness in them enough to speak. "Beca, _fuck me_."

(Aubrey feels the fingers of Beca's forgotten hand bunch tightly around the dark fabric of her dress at her waist, so she repeats herself and gets the same reaction, once more. But Aubrey groans, because it's not enough.

It's not nearly enough.)

Beca's lips blaze downward, her nose nudging Aubrey's dress aside until her teeth abruptly close over the rise of the Aubrey's right breast in the same moment that two of her fingers roughly shove Aubrey's panties to the side and plunge into her without celebration or warning or request.

"Fuck!" Aubrey exclaims, lifting her palm around the DJ's neck until her fingers constrict forcefully in her lover's hair.

Beca growls, but drives her fingers to a hard rhythm that Aubrey doesn't know – but she's sure that it's there, despite the quickness of it, because everything Beca _does_ follows a rhythm.

(But Aubrey can't worry about the rhythm; she can only appreciate it, and writhe under it, and pray to a deity that she has no faith in that it doesn't stop; that it never stops.)

"Jesus, you're so wet," Beca rasps into her skin.

Aubrey fleetingly wants to roll her eyes – because, put candidly, _duh_ – but she restrains it, mostly, except for how her eyes still roll into the back of her head when Beca bites down on her breast again, harder (Aubrey isn't sure how), immediately after voicing the words.

She suspects briefly that her hand at Beca's shoulder is perhaps drawing blood, but Aubrey can't care – Beca doesn't leave her room to _think_ to care – because Beca pushes her thumb hard against Aubrey's clit a moment after it occurs to her.

Then Beca's fingers curl inside her, and Aubrey thinks she's so turned on she might explode with the heat raging throughout her body, flaming her skin until it's dark red and slick with perspiration, and glistening with it, too.

"Oh, God," Aubrey clenches her eyes shut as Beca dips her mouth into the cavern between Aubrey's breasts – visible (and accessible) because of the cut of Aubrey's dress – and flits her directionless tongue across the skin.

"I'm so- I'm so close, baby," Aubrey stammers out encouragingly. "Just – oh! Yes, Beca!" She cries eagerly when Beca's fingers drag against that tender spot within her. "Oh, God, yes! Just like that," she senselessly pleads as her walls convulse around Beca's talented digits.

Beca moans something frustrated and needy, and it buzzes against Aubrey's skin, but the sound of it is what gets her. She can't hear herself panting, or the slick noise of Beca's fingers thrusting inside her; she can't hear the cabinet beneath her clattering with each movement of Beca's hips, or the hum of the ventilation system in the apartment that sometimes drives her crazy – but Aubrey hears that sound.

(Aubrey loves that sound. She knows it – the timbre of it, the feel of it as it purrs across her skin, the way it begins low and pitches upward with desperation at the end.

She rolls her hips into Beca's palm when she hears it, because Aubrey _knows_ that sound, and she knows exactly what it means.

Beca wants her to come. Like, five minutes ago.)

Beca's mouth rises from her neck, her breath heavy and hard with exertion, but she doesn't slow – not for a second. Aubrey's fingers pull at her hair, frenzied with desire, and she _wants_ to come – God, she needs it – but she can't get there; not yet.

Not until Beca's forehead slants against her own, and Aubrey can see her eyes, dilated and devoted and sure, watching Aubrey with greed and lust, pleading for all the things she's too winded to give voice to.

(Aubrey loves Beca's eyes.

They're blue, when they shouldn't be; they should be brown, Aubrey is convinced. But they're blue. They're blue, and expressive, and they glitter _all the time_, even while the rest of Beca projects staunch disinterest in everything around her. They're blue. And stormy.

Like a hurricane.)

As soon as she thinks it – remembers why that _means_ something – Aubrey crashes over the ledge like Beca's just dropped her off of it, crying out praise and worship as her body trembles again, harder, this time with relief, but she's so unsteady that she can't let Beca loose from her serpentine grasp for fear of crumbling into nonexistence.

(She probably wouldn't release her, even if she could.

Aubrey wants to feel her. She needs Beca close, right now; she can't explain it – and doesn't presently care to – but she needs Beca here, and not an inch further away, holding her safe, and tight, so that Aubrey can feel the pulse of the DJ's heart thrashing erratically against her own.)

Beca's fingers don't still, but her thrusts even out, filling Aubrey with lackadaisical, tired attacks until Aubrey's hips cease to jerk forward with every hint of movement; until there's nothing left but heavy breaths and flighty kisses and murmured appreciation that filters groggily through overly sensitive ears.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Please review, and tell me how I did. : )


	3. All About Us

**Chapter Three: All About Us (by He Is We)**

"You're so gorgeous when you come," Beca murmurs sincerely, her lips ghosting across Aubrey's with every word she speaks. "I love watching it."

Aubrey can't respond to that. She's too busy panting, recapturing her breath – but, also, she has no idea how. She feels it, too – that awe and wonderment that's coating Beca's voice right now and gleaming in the brunette's eyes; she feels it every time she watches Beca fall apart beneath her.

Aubrey gets it.

She's flattered, and wants to thank Beca for voicing it – and partly for validating her own feelings, too – but she isn't sure that 'thank you' is quite appropriate. Instead, she tips her mouth downward to kiss Beca, and in it, she imbues her gratitude and heartfelt appreciation (both for the comment, and everything that preceded it) with slow, contented pulls against the DJ's lips with her own.

Beca sighs out a soft, yearning noise that catches across the roof of Aubrey's mouth, and Aubrey can feel, in the tightening grip of Beca's fingers on her hip and clutching over the outer edge of her thigh, how badly Beca needs to be touched. But Aubrey doesn't just want to fuck her anymore; she's overwhelmed by her own emotions, and by Beca's, shimmering bright in the DJ's eyes under the glare of the overhead kitchen lights, and Aubrey is only mildly startled to realize that she wants to _love_ Beca.

So Aubrey keeps her kiss lax and easy and caring, and urges Beca backward with a gentle nudge against her shoulder until Aubrey has enough room to slip down into the space between Beca and the countertop.

"Bedroom," Aubrey whispers, somewhere in between a cluster of hushed, measured kisses.

Beca tries to nod, but Aubrey's hands skate up and around (respectively, from Beca's shoulder and neck) until she's cupping Beca's cheeks in her palms.

It doesn't last long, because when Aubrey begins walking Beca backwards, she has to spare first one hand, and then the other, to reach down and remove her heels. But something about it stirs motion in Beca, who reaches her arm up between the blades of Aubrey's shoulders to untie the knot holding her dress together. When the strips of fabric fall loosely around Aubrey's neck, Beca's fingers rise, moving sluggishly across the material to clasp at its edges.

(It's like Beca knows that her mood has changed; it's like she _knows_ what Aubrey wants – about her sudden desire to make love to Beca – and Beca wants it, too, because when she pulls at the lines of Aubrey's dress, it's more of a mild, reverent tug downward, until Aubrey has to take over and undo the bow at her waist to slip the ensemble down her hips and past her thighs to step out of it.)

Aubrey's fully uncovered, now, but for the pair of damp, lacy black panties between her legs – because her dress had dipped low at the back, and hadn't allowed for a bra – so Aubrey isn't really surprised when Beca whimpers as Aubrey presses into her to find her mouth again. But aside from that tiny sound that escapes her throat, Beca does a spectacular – and surprising – job of staving off her desperation. But Aubrey knows it's there, and she's going to quench it.

(She just needs a little more time.

Aubrey's fortunate that, for once, Beca is indulging her with patience.)

It's a quiet journey from the kitchen to the bedroom, with only small gasps and soft moans punctuating the apartment as they kiss, but it doesn't matter; Aubrey thinks it's the most wonderful song she's ever heard, and it's more than enough to fill the quiet around them.

When she finally lowers Beca onto the bed, the DJ's dress has long been peeled from her pale, pretty skin and gifted to the living room carpet, and her heels (along with her bra) to the mouth of the hallway, both of their panties fallen to the floor just outside Aubrey's bedroom.

Aubrey's view of Beca is entirely unobstructed, and she stops everything to appreciate this moment; stops kissing, stops moving, stops thinking, stops _breathing_. She has to swallow to compose herself, hovering overtop of Beca with an arm braced around the halo of the brunette's hair, sprawled across the pillow beneath her.

"God, you're beautiful, Beca," she whispers, her eyes flitting over Beca's face, learning lines that she already knows, tracing over shadows of fluttering eyelashes that Aubrey can hardly see in the dark of her room, and mapping creases in the brunette's forehead that she'd long ago committed to memory.

(But exposure to the brunette has not weakened the hard, sudden drop that strikes in Aubrey's stomach every time she sees Beca this way.

If anything, exposure has worsened it.)

"Baby, please," Beca breathes, her eyes mere pools of black with a thin ring of blue visible around the edges. "I need you to touch me," Beca beseeches softly. "I need- I have to feel you, Aubrey. _Please_."

Aubrey nods, and strokes comforting, delicate fingers over Beca's cheek for a moment until she can catch her breath.

Beca doesn't do this. She doesn't beg – not without challenge; not unless it's a game – a battle to see who will cave to the pressure of the cravings first. But Beca doesn't just plead for Aubrey to touch her without provocation. Not ever.

But this is different. This whole night – it's different. It's like the emotions they've been fostering for months now – maybe longer; Aubrey isn't sure – have uncoiled in their chests, and every word, every action, every kiss and touch and whispered moan is infused with _more_; more affection than Aubrey's used to allowing, more tenderness, more significance, more _feeling_.

It's overpowering most of Aubrey's autonomic functions.

(Aubrey wonders if this is the way that pregnant mothers feel when their baby swings a foot where it shouldn't ever belong, because her heart feels like it's kicking against her ribs and rattling through her bones, leaving her quivering with the reverberations.)

"I know, honey," she eventually coos, her fingers brushing down the length of Beca's cheek until the heel of her hand curves beneath the brunette's chin, and Aubrey bows her neck down low to flicker a soft, sweet kiss to Beca's lips as her thumb gently strokes the corner of her lover's mouth. "I'll take care of you, Beca," Aubrey promises, grazing her fingers down Beca's neck to lay her palm flat across the DJ's hammering heart.

Beca looks up at her, open and vulnerable and trusting, and Aubrey draws in a small, sharp breath the moment she spies it. She's never seen this look before. It's new to her.

(Everything about Beca feels new to her, sometimes, but this look actually is. Aubrey's never seen Beca look at anyone with this kind of endless faith, and she feels remarkably honored.

Because Beca's putting all of that endless faith in _her_.)

"Oh, darling," Aubrey mutters profoundly, unable to express much else, but embedding the sentiment with as much honest emotion as she can muster before lowering her mouth to the dip between Beca's collarbones, where she folds a gentle kiss.

"I want – " Beca tries, but breaks off with a shuddered exhalation of breath when Aubrey humbly kisses the spot again.

"Sh," Aubrey hushes absently, flitting her tongue out to taste the thin indentation she'd pressed her lips against moments before, and the salty taste of Beca's skin makes Aubrey hum. "Just let me love you, Beca."

(Beca moans, something sweet and quiet and somehow adoring.

Aubrey almost moans, too, when she hears it.)

"Let me love you," Aubrey requests again, this time more aware of the words as they breathe from her mouth on an earnest whisper. "I want to love you tonight, Beca," she murmurs, catching Beca's eyes with her own as she brings her face upward until her forehead warms against the brunette's.

Beca's tongue darts out to wet her lips, almost touching Aubrey's – God, they're so close together – before she offers two tiny, fervent nods of her head and raises both of her hands to wind her fingers around the nape of Aubrey's neck. "Then love me, Aubrey," she allows, a small, nervously permissive smile rising at the left edge of the DJ's mouth.

Aubrey's mouth descends over Beca's instantly, and it's slow and hot, demanding and leisurely all at once, somehow, and Aubrey is sure she's never kissed like this before – not with anyone. Beca's lips part for Aubrey just before she makes the request – like Beca is in tune with her thoughts and knows what she wants before she even has to ask for it – so Aubrey brushes her tongue against Beca's, and when they curl together, it's not like anything they've ever done.

There's no competition; no warring tongues or contesting lips, or even a gentle prod for dominance that Beca evidently doesn't even want, tonight.

(It hadn't occurred to her until now, but Aubrey doesn't think she wants it, either.

It's very unusual. For both of them.)

They aren't tearing each other apart; they're coming together – rising to the top _together_, instead of topping one another for conquest. Beca is giving in to her, and Aubrey's giving it back, surrendering to her feelings for Beca and offering them to the brunette with every sigh she breathes into Beca's mouth.

Aubrey lowers her hand from Beca's chest, slowly grazing the side of Beca's breast with her palm (which makes Beca whimper – a sound that Aubrey can _feel_, because it whirs down her throat and purrs through her lungs and somehow wraps itself around Aubrey's heart and _hugs_), then trails lower until her hand rests at Beca's waist.

She scrapes her nails gently up Beca's hip, then her side, and back down again once she reaches the DJ's ribs, still kissing Beca; still feeling her lover's moans as they slip out from Beca's mouth, catching them with her own.

(But Aubrey feels other things, too.

Aubrey feels _everything_.

Like the way that Beca's hips are absently curving upward into pulsing, rolling thrusts against Aubrey's thigh, and the way that Beca's right hand slinks down Aubrey's neck and between her breasts and further down, still, to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling Aubrey closer to her until not even a breath could slip between them.)

Aubrey groans when their breasts touch, and drops her mouth from Beca's to pepper open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, driving a scattered line to Beca's throat, and she nips against it before sucking the tender skin into her mouth.

(Aubrey's loving Beca, now. But she wants to claim her, too.

She's been eyeing the pale column of Beca's neck all evening, and Aubrey's marked her before – with hickeys and scratches and occasionally a bruise from falling from the bed together, or rushing too hard against the door and meeting with the handle by mistake – but this is different.

Beca is hers, now, and Aubrey wants to claim her all over again, with a different kind of passion, and for different reasons entirely. She doesn't want to mark Beca to prove a point, or to retaliate for the ones that Beca had left on her; she doesn't want to mark her in fury, or irrational jealousy over the Treble that still hits on Beca despite their break-up a week after getting together at the ICCAs.

Beca is hers, now, and Aubrey can't fight her desire to mark her girlfriend with the love that's swelling wide in her heart, mounting with every second longer spent in Beca Mitchell's arms.)

Her teeth scuff softly against Beca's neck, but Aubrey is gentle and ardent with the flesh, sweeping her tongue against it with care and decorating the skin with her affection. Beca's head tips back a little – Aubrey can feel it in the stretch of her throat – and she whines softly when Aubrey's hand pushes for enough space between them to grasp muted, deferential fingers around Beca's breast.

"Aubrey," she sighs a complicated little sound, like she's content with this, right now – content to wait, emotionally, but her body is craving for more, and wants her to ask for it.

But Beca doesn't.

(Aubrey thinks she's enjoying this slow torture; the slow torture of making love, made worse by several hours of flirtation and frustration and desire throughout the night, that had culminated shortly before with fucking Aubrey in the kitchen, and watching her come undone at Beca's hands – Aubrey knows how turned on Beca must be, after all of that – but she also thinks Beca is letting Aubrey have her, wholly, and wants Aubrey to have the freedom to do with her whatever she pleases.

Aubrey can't coherently express how privileged she feels by that, but she's determined to show Beca, even if she can't give voice to it.)

Carefully, Aubrey sketches her mouth downward, and pleats an appreciative, loving kiss over Beca's heart, and Beca's hand rises to coil loosely in her hair. Aubrey smiles slightly, but brings her lips to the rise of Beca's breast. She places several soft kisses there, too, before dragging her mouth to Beca's nipple and folding her lips around it, flitting her tongue gently across the sensitive flesh.

Beca arches upward with a small cry that causes moisture to pool between Aubrey's legs, but she ignores it and continues, raising her left hand to tenderly palm the opposite breast, as well.

"God, Aubrey," Beca pants, but if there was a thought meant to follow, it never came.

Aubrey doesn't mind. She revels in the scrape of Beca's voice and brings her mouth lower, pressing once against the soft skin beneath Beca's breast, and dotting gentle kisses against each of the DJ's ribs as she descends.

Beca's fingers reflexively tighten in Aubrey's hair when she licks softly down the line that dips between Beca's side and her toned stomach (Aubrey _knows_ what that does to Beca, how it makes her squirm and hiss and sometimes cry out Aubrey's name), but Aubrey keeps moving until she can lightly close her teeth over Beca's hip (which is more sensitive than that delicate line of her stomach, Aubrey knows), and Beca's lower body curves upward, seeking contact; seeking _Aubrey_.

"_Please_," Beca whispers desperately. "I can't- Aubrey, I can't take this. _Please touch me_," she breaks, finally.

(Aubrey's been waiting for it. She wants to drown Beca in her affection – the way she's feeling, now, blessed by Beca's care – and she was intent to do so as much as possible before Beca simply couldn't take any more, but she knows she'll have to love the rest of Beca later, because her DJ needs more, now.

Beca needs relief, and she's been so very patient for Aubrey, tonight, waiting for it; waiting for _her_.)

Aubrey covers Beca's inner left thigh with another kiss before settling herself between the brunette's legs, peering up at Beca for just a short moment, her breath propelling from her lungs when she studies her lover, flushed and needy, one hand still curled in Aubrey's hair, the other raised above her head and clutching around a pillow to keep her need at bay.

"I love you like this," Aubrey sighs softly, emotion trembling in her words. "I'll take care of you, Beca," she sincerely vows again, bowing her head to lap gently against Beca's sex.

Beca moans above her, so Aubrey does it again, and again, until Beca begins to shake. Then she thrusts her tongue inside the brunette, and groans when Beca's hand pushes a little against her head, and she rolls her hips into Aubrey's face.

"Oh my God," Beca breathes. "Bree, don't stop," she pleads mindlessly. "God, don't ever stop."

(Aubrey doesn't.)

She keeps tonguing Beca's core for minutes (maybe hours, or it could've been days, for all Aubrey knows, but she has no concept of time; her whole world consists of loving Beca right now), until Beca's hand falls to her shoulder and pulls against it.

Bemused, Aubrey pauses and glances up at her.

"Come here," Beca husks breathlessly. "Come up here, Aubrey."

Aubrey adheres to the request, slithering up Beca's body until the DJ frames her face in her palms and brings her down for a needy, tender kiss as Beca's thumbs draw soft circles against Aubrey's cheeks.

"I want to see you," Beca tries to explain, then shakes her head helplessly. "I just- I need you near me."

"Okay," Aubrey swallows thickly, hearing Beca mimic her thoughts from earlier in the night, and it's affecting her more than Aubrey thinks it has a right to. "Okay, sweetheart. I'm here," she says, skimming her palm down Beca's side. "I'm right here, Beca," she promises.

"_Stay_," Beca beseeches vulnerably, her eyes wide and abruptly clear, but pleading for something else entirely.

(Aubrey knows there's more behind this sentiment than the desire for Aubrey's face to stay level with hers. Beca's asking her to stay – not in the bed, or the room, but in her life.

Beca wants her to _stay_.)

Aubrey's eyes water, but she nods fiercely. "I will, Beca," she replies earnestly, because she's never meant anything so sincerely in her life. "I'll stay with you, I promise."

Beca nods back, hesitates, then whispers almost inaudibly, "I'm kinda in love with you, okay? So don't go," she pleads with a tiny crack in a voice that's already barely there.

Aubrey's heart throbs violently against her chest, and she gasps sharply, but nods again, fiercely, while she tries to find her voice. It's hard, but she eventually manages to croak, "I'm kinda in love with you, too. I won't go, Beca," she swears again, as a tear crawls from the corner of her eye.

Beca's thumb soothingly swipes it away. "Yeah?" She rasps, looking small and defenseless beneath her.

"_Yes_," Aubrey gasps out. "God, yes, Beca," she chuckles breathily, relieved, and happy.

(God, Aubrey can't ever remember feeling this happy.

She hadn't thought she'd needed it – the words; not yet, not when they were just now granting clarity to their relationship, giving it shape and succumbing to their twin wishes for more, but this night, this _moment_ feels complete with it.

It feels right, and good, and, God, she's so happy.)

Beca's hips tilt up against her again, reminding, before she softly murmurs, "Show me, baby."

There's a little smile on her face, content – like Aubrey – and her eyes are brighter than Aubrey's ever seen them, but Aubrey can see the desire, momentarily put on hold for her emotional needs, flaring to the surface again.

Aubrey kisses Beca again, lovingly, folding her mouth around Beca's slowly and reverently as her fingers climb from Beca's hip down to her core, and she gently pushes two fingers inside of her lover. Beca's hips pitch upward, and Aubrey can't help the corresponding dip that her own hips take downward, grinding into Beca's thigh.

"You feel so good," Beca sighs out, a palm falling to Aubrey's hip, her nails nipping into the skin she finds.

Aubrey smiles tenderly and thrusts again, hard, but slow, and she feels Beca's walls gripping around her fingers as she moves. She doesn't stop; she keeps pushing and pulling inside of Beca as she lowers her head to kiss her lover, infusing it with heat and passion and all the emotion she can't bear to repress any longer.

Her hips roll against Beca's thigh, and Aubrey can feel her own arousal climbing, a fierce, powerful orgasm building in her core, but she keeps driving into Beca, delighting in the moans escaping the brunette's throat as they kiss.

"Don't stop, Bree," Beca pants. "I'm so close. God, you feel so good."

"Beca," Aubrey purrs absently. "You're so tight, baby. Come for me," she directs gently. "Come for me, Beca."

The DJ groans, and, before Aubrey knows what's happening – before she can grasp the shift, or move to prevent it – Beca flips her over, Aubrey's fingers never leaving her, and Beca begins to lower herself over Aubrey's palm.

"Oh my God," Aubrey breathes, the sight of Beca above her, watching her, curling her fingers around Aubrey's breasts overwhelming her. "That's it, Beca," she encourages immediately. "Ride me, baby."

"Fuck," Beca whines, thrusting her thigh upward until Aubrey cries out with the pressure against her clit. "Come with me. God, I know you're close, Bree," Beca rasps. "_Come with me_," she implores.

Aubrey's hips rock into her again, harder, just that little bit faster, pushing her hand into Beca just that little bit more. All she can hear are pants and sighs and moans, echoing around the room and in her heart, until Beca's hips drop against her once more, and Aubrey falls apart, crashing into depths she's never ventured into before – not this deep – as she hears Beca keen noisily above her as she follows.

(Beca always waits for her.

It's sweet, but Aubrey doesn't know how she managed it – not tonight; not with how ready she was, how desperate and edgy she'd been all evening.)

Beca's quivering on top of her, collapsing into her until their breasts are aligned and their legs twisted together, so Aubrey strokes her fingers delicately down the length of the DJ's back, trying vainly to reign her emotions and her lungs under some semblance of control.

"This dating thing?" Beca husks eventually. "_Awesome_ idea. So many props to me for having it."

Aubrey can't help it. She laughs, joyously, and says into Beca's shoulder, "I love you, Beca."

Beca raises herself on trembling arms and smiles adoringly back down at her. "I love you, too, Posen," she declares softly, kissing the edge of Aubrey's mouth.

* * *

When Aubrey wakes the next morning, she feels satisfied, and content – but she aches all over, and, though she wants to go back to sleep (to stay here, with her arms curled around Beca and her head tucked against her lover's over the brunette's shoulder), she's pretty sure it's not going to happen.

She remains still for another moment before carefully unwinding herself from Beca, but the motion stirs the DJ anyway, and she groggily whispers, "Where are you going?"

"Coffee," Aubrey answers quietly, lowering her lips to Beca's neck and kissing softly. "I'll bring you some when it's done."

"Promise?" Beca requests sleepily.

Aubrey smiles tenderly and kisses her neck again. "I promise. I'll be back," she says.

Beca groans unhappily when Aubrey stands, but she combs her fingers through Beca's hair gently until she falls asleep again, and, with a last, sweet kiss to the brunette's cheek, Aubrey finds her blue silk bathrobe and slips noiselessly from the room.

She chuckles to herself when she kicks her and Beca's underwear into her room before closing the door, but makes her way to the kitchen afterward. Aubrey ignores the other articles of clothing strewn about in favor of turning on the coffee maker, but she's a little shocked when she finds Chloe at the table, sipping on a cup of what Aubrey had to assume was the coffee that she so desired as her eyes skim over the pages of her textbook.

"Hey," Chloe greets cheerfully.

"Hi," Aubrey smiles back. "You're here," she says bemusedly, though pleased to see her friend.

Chloe looks tired, but happy, and Aubrey's glad that she's enjoying the grad school program, even if it is exhausting for her.

"Yeah," Chloe chirps. "I took the day off. My study group today is a chapter behind me, so I thought I'd study a little at home, instead. I was in the library until late, and went to a friend's to study some more; I crashed there for the night, so I'm a little worn down. Plus," she hesitates briefly, "I got a bunch of calls from the Bellas last night."

Aubrey's hand pauses momentarily as it reaches for a coffee mug from the cabinet, but she resumes motion before it's too noticeable, and she curiously inquires, "Oh?"

She drains the rest of the coffee pot into her cup before Chloe responds.

"Yeah," Chloe nods as Aubrey turns around to find the creamer in the fridge. "They were asking for details about you and Beca," she says slowly. "Details that I don't actually _have_."

Aubrey stirs the creamer into her coffee and sighs softly. "You never asked for details, Chloe," she says mutedly.

"I didn't realize that I needed to," Chloe frowns. "Why didn't you tell me that the two of you were getting serious? I could practically _hear_ Stacie moaning when she told me about the dresses you guys wore out last night. The dresses, by the way, that are thrown around our apartment, along with a few other items of clothing," she adds playfully.

Aubrey knows that her friend added the joke to edge away some of the tension (Chloe never functions well with tension), but she's mildly aggravated that Chloe's upset about this.

"Chloe," Aubrey begins deliberately, "Beca and I went on our first 'official' date last night."

"You could've called me," Chloe insists quietly. "Or at least texted me. That's good news, right? I mean, assuming you wanted to go out with her?"

"It's wonderful news," Aubrey offers a small smile, because she's definitely thrilled with the progression of her and Beca's relationship, but she's still a little upset that she needs to be having this conversation with her best friend.

"So why didn't you tell me?" Chloe presses, sounding wounded – like Aubrey's offended her by not sharing it with her.

"Because every time I've mentioned Beca in the last few weeks, you've laughed at me, Chloe," she huffs crossly. "Even if I was just telling you something that she said, you laughed at me. I know that Beca and I are an unlikely match, especially given how frequently we argue, but- I didn't feel very inclined to discuss my relationship with her when you reacted that way."

Chloe stays silent for a moment, before remorsefully saying, "I'm sorry, Bree. I just- I guess I didn't realize you were being serious when you guys told us that you were involved. I mean, I knew you guys were hanging out a lot, but… I don't know, I just thought Beca was protecting you when she said that, so that you didn't have to talk about whoever you were hooking up with unless you wanted to."

Aubrey sighs again, and shrugs. "Beca _was_ protecting me. I was very uncomfortable with the questions you guys were asking, and Beca verbally claimed the relationship when I wasn't sure if that was okay for me to do. We've been sleeping together for months, Chloe."

Chloe, shocked, asks, "How many?"

"What?" Aubrey frowns, confused.

"How many months?" Chloe pushes.

"I'm not sure. At least five," Aubrey shrugs. "It got a little tangled, or something. I don't remember."

"Seven."

Aubrey whirls around in her chair to face a calm, but very sleepy Beca, sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a black sports bra that Aubrey vaguely remembers washing a few days ago.

(Beca's clothes had been slipping in with hers for a while now. She's learned not to feel surprised when they slip into her laundry, too.

It makes her feel strangely domesticated. And happy.)

"It's been seven months, because the first time was before the activities fair in August, and I'd been dreading it all summer, so I asked you to help and you called me lazy and unworthy of your stupid pitch pipe. But I was nervous and I didn't want to ask you for help to begin with, so then I was pissed, because you were being _awful_," she scowls, "and I sorta threw you against the wall in the auditorium and kissed you."

Aubrey tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from cooing at her (because she doesn't want to do that in front of Chloe, especially not right now, mid-disagreement), but her heart feels like it's _expanding_, making room for Beca and all of the warm, fluttery feelings that Aubrey feels for her right now, because they simply can't fit.

She's surprised that Beca remembers, and more surprised that she's willing to share it with Chloe in the room, but when she looks at Beca's eyes, she can see, somehow, that Beca is giving Chloe the answers that she wants so that Aubrey doesn't have to come up with them on her own. Aubrey softly smiles her appreciation back at Beca as best as she can, but she feels it pales in comparison to how broad the emotion feels in her chest.

(Aubrey remembers that day, too, now that Beca's jolted the memory from her mind.

She remembers feeling depressed that she wouldn't be there to captain the Bellas any longer, and she remembers feeling furious that Beca hadn't prepared for the fair the way that Aubrey felt she should have. She'd realized afterward – after Beca had thoroughly fucked her against the wall of the somewhat-open space – that Beca _had_ prepared for it, and was just trembling with nerves, so Aubrey had eventually agreed to help.

Although, 'helping' that day had mostly consisted of rolling her eyes and reluctantly comforting the tiny DJ whenever she began to panic.

And, though she hadn't been sure of her decision to allow it to happen, she remembers why she hadn't shoved Beca away that day, too. Aubrey thinks it probably had a little to do with surprise, but she knows that, even then, she'd felt something in Beca's kiss that no other lover had offered, and Aubrey had craved it, desperately.

Still, Aubrey couldn't quite remember how they'd transitioned from having Beca's hand up her skirt to jointly tacking up the Barden Bellas banner to the rolling table in the rehearsal space…)

"You've been sleeping together for seven _months_?" Chloe asks incredulously. "And we just learned about it three weeks ago?" She insists.

"It's not like we _knew_ it meant more," Beca rolls her eyes. "Not then, anyway," she says, and bends over to steal Aubrey's coffee.

"Hey," Aubrey frowns. "No," she says, curling her fingers around the mug. "Get your own."

"Nope," Beca shakes her head and pries Aubrey's fingers off of it. "The pot's empty, and I was promised coffee in bed, Posen. Give it," she instructs, but takes it away before Aubrey actually has the choice to release it.

"It's not my fault," Aubrey huffs. "I was held up."

"I see that," Beca nods. "And I'm accepting the fact that I'm not drinking coffee in bed because of it, but, dude, I need my coffee."

Aubrey rolls her eyes – because, _dude_, she thinks sarcastically, she needs it, too – but Beca's evidently not relenting. She watches, though, as Beca prepares to make another pot, and she smiles despite her irritation. But then her jaw drops when Beca turns around, putting her back to them as she putters for the bag of coffee in the cabinet.

"Oh my God!" Chloe exclaims, jumping upward instantly to move to Beca's side.

Beca reels backward, confused, and displeased with the clear invasion of her personal space as Chloe's fingers drift along her shoulder.

"Aubrey, what did you _do_ to her?" Chloe asks protectively.

Beca's neck curves as she peers over her shoulder, spotting deep, dark red scratches scabbed over where Aubrey's nails had carved into her the night before.

The DJ snorts, and shrugs, resuming her motions.

Aubrey flushes, and sheepishly replies, "I was- frustrated."

"Jesus," Chloe puffs out. "Is sex with you two always so _violent?_"

"Sometimes," Beca snickers.

"Beca," Aubrey chides instinctively.

"What?" Beca asks defensively. "She _asked_, Aubrey. Plus, I mean… it's _true_," she mumbles.

"Beca," Aubrey says again simply, embedding her voice with the admonishment once more.

"I'm confused," Beca feigns innocence as she sighs theatrically and pours water into the coffee maker. "Are we, or are we not giving Chloe the details that she's asking for?"

"_Why_ must you make everything so _difficult_?" Aubrey tips her head back with exasperation. "Obviously we're answering her questions, Beca, but – "

"Which is exactly what I did!" Beca cries triumphantly.

" – _some_ discretion wouldn't kill you," Aubrey finishes with a glare.

"I'm just being helpful," Beca replies with a shrug and a cheeky grin as she leans her back against the counter, wrapping her fingers around her coffee mug – _Aubrey's_ coffee mug, she thinks with mild spitefulness – but Aubrey can't help but to smile back at her.

(It's nice – seeing Beca this open and happy and playful – and even if she did lose out on her coffee, even if Beca _is_ giving Chloe more information than Aubrey thinks is strictly necessary, she's happy, too, and she smiles back at her.)

"I don't- really know if this is adorable or more confusing," Chloe laughs jubilantly.

Aubrey sighs again as Beca sips at her coffee. "I know it's hard to wrap your head around, Chloe, but- it works for us," she says earnestly. "Beca makes me happy."

"_Yeah_, I do," Beca smirks cockily.

Aubrey scowls at her, because, though Beca didn't actually _say_ it, she definitely meant that remark to be dirty when she'd voiced it, and Aubrey knows it.

"Uh… she makes me happy, too?" Beca tries again, shrinking a little into herself.

Chloe laughs again. "Oh my God, you guys are crazy. I don't even know what to do with this, right now."

"We didn't really ask you to do anything with it," Beca says thoughtfully. "It just is."

(Aubrey thinks that's absurdly appropriate.

That was how she'd been with Beca, since the beginning of this little romantic endeavor. She didn't overthink it; for once in her life, Aubrey didn't feel the need to analyze it, and break it down into tiny, graspable pieces. Everything she shares with Beca just _is_.

And Aubrey thinks it's wonderful.)

"Okay, well, I mean, if you guys get engaged or take any other huge relationship steps, I'd really like to know about it next time," Chloe teases. "I promise not to laugh, Bree. Unless it's, like, a really funny story, or something."

"Then I promise to tell you about it," Aubrey chuckles warmly. "Like how Beca said she loves me last night," she smirks, eyeing Beca as she sputters her drink back into her cup.

(Aubrey really doesn't want it, anymore.

She can wait for the pot to finish brewing, she thinks, amused with herself.)

"Dude!" Beca objects.

"_Awwww_," Chloe coos immediately.

She may have been slow to accept the relationship (Aubrey thinks she'd needed this – to see them together, and have her questions answered so that she can better understand how they work), but Chloe is innately thrilled with anything sappy, and she turns into a giant puddle of mush when that sentimentality involves the happiness of her friends.

Aubrey can't deny that she's pleased to have her best friend fully in the know about a relationship that makes her this happy.

(Beca had made her happy before, too, making sure to be there for Aubrey when needed and generally just offering Aubrey giddy feelings every time they were in the same room together, but especially now, after the turning events throughout the week and the confessions of love the night before, she's happy to be able to share this with Chloe.)

"Whatever," Beca grunts uncomfortably. "I'm going to shower. I have rehearsal, soon."

"Can we sit in?" Chloe asks eagerly. "I haven't had a day to myself in so long, and I miss the girls."

"Sure," Beca shrugs. "Are you coming to the competition tonight, too?"

Chloe frowns and looks at her confusedly. "What competition?"

"I'll catch her up," Aubrey offers. "Go shower, honey."

"Thanks," Beca says appreciatively, and swallows the last several sips (gulps, Aubrey thinks with a roll of her eyes) of her coffee before depositing the empty mug into the dishwasher.

She drops a kiss to the top of Aubrey's head as she breaks from the room, and Aubrey knows that 'glowing' is something that one usually claims to see, but she _feels_ herself doing it, instead, even though she thinks it's ridiculous that such a quick, though affectionate gesture should inspire such a thing.

Chloe's biting her lip when Aubrey turns back to her, and Aubrey raises her brows to encourage her to voice the thought that she can see Chloe wants to express.

"It's weird," she says, shaking her head, "but I can see it now – how you two could work together. I'm sorry I didn't take it seriously, Aubrey. I should have. I mean, at the very least, I should've known that there was more to it than we thought, because even if Beca _was_ protecting you the way that I thought, she wouldn't do that if she didn't care about you."

"It's okay," Aubrey forgives softly. "It's partially my fault, anyway, for not saying anything sooner and trying to ease you into it. It just- didn't feel like a big deal. Maybe I wondered, at first, if I should really make a habit out of casual sex – but most of it never felt casual. Beca- she always goes all out," Aubrey chuckles fondly. "And it never felt like something we needed to talk about, really. It just kinda blended into the rest of our relationship until I couldn't really separate the sex from the friendship anymore, if that makes sense."

Chloe nods contemplatively, and replies, "I guess it does. I mean, it's surprising… but I can understand it. You and Beca have always been very passionate people, individually. It makes sense that it would bleed into your relationship together, too; that's why it was so easy for me to understand why you guys argued all the time last year. But I guess if it turned into something sexual, it'd be hard to keep the passion out of that, too. It's just hard to associate the different ways you guys express it, you know? Especially when I got so used to seeing it expressed as anger."

"It took some recalibrating for us, too," Aubrey shares easily. "Even after we changed the set list last year, Beca and I were never friends – not really; not the way you were friends with each of us. So we kind of leapt from acquaintances to friends and fuck buddies in the same span of time, and we danced around our limits, for a while, until we weren't sure exactly what our limits even _were _anymore."

"So you were just in limbo? For seven months?" Chloe asks, frowning. "That sounds… hard."

"It wasn't," Aubrey replies honestly. "I know it should've been, but neither of us ever saw anyone else while we were sleeping together, and Beca was always there when I needed her to be. We were pretty much in a relationship, we just never called it anything. We never needed to," Aubrey shrugs.

"So what changed?"

Aubrey ponders the question for a moment before sighing, and offering another shrug. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. Beca asked me a couple of days ago if I was happy with the way things were, and when I asked what she wanted, she said that she was okay with our relationship the way that it was, but that she could do more, if I said I wanted it. So we went on a date," she says simply.

"How was it?" Chloe asks, smiling softly, despite that Aubrey can see her practically bouncing at the edge of her seat.

"Wonderful," Aubrey laughs. "At least, it _was_, until the girls started blowing up Beca's phone and we had to shake them off."

"Hence your- _frustration_," Chloe teases, with a wide, perverted grin.

Aubrey blushes, and indignantly defends, "You should have _seen_ her in that dress, Chlo. You'd have torn her apart, too."

"I'm not even into girls," Chloe laughs, shaking her head.

"Exactly," Aubrey says. "That's my point. She looked incredible, Chloe, and by the time the Bellas left, we were both pretty worked up."

"Understandable," Chloe chuckles. "Especially after the show that I heard Beca put on last night."

"Oh my _God_, Chloe," Aubrey huffs. "I thought I was going to _die_. Like, for serious, keel over and _die_. I don't even know if Beca knew she was doing it, either."

"How could she _not_ know that singing a song like that would turn you on?"

"I don't even think she meant to start singing it," Aubrey shakes her head. "She was- _Beca_," Aubrey laughs. "Impatient. Not that I can blame her – I was, too – but still. It was a rough couple of hours for us."

"Sounds like it," Chloe beams, eyes bright and warm, with a happy smile on her face. "I'm really happy for you, Aubrey. I'm just a little sad that I wasn't around to see all of this happening before."

"You've been really busy, Chlo," Aubrey soothes, reaching her palm out to tighten her fingers around Chloe's arm for comfort.

"Yeah, but you're my best friend, Bree," Chloe says quietly. "I should know about this stuff. The Bellas called me to ask about it because even _they_ thought I should know about it," she insists.

"You knew about it as soon as anyone else did, Chloe," Aubrey offers. "Like I said, Beca and I weren't really sure up until recently that there was anything to actually tell about it, so you're not very far behind. I know I could've talked to you about it if I'd wanted to," she assures.

"Okay," Chloe nods, inhaling deeply until she smiles again, though it's a little sheepish when Aubrey catches sight of it. "I guess I just worried that you didn't tell me because I've been gone so much."

"No, Chloe," Aubrey promises, smiling back at her gently. "I know you're busy, but we talk for a few hours every Sunday. If I'd wanted to discuss it, I would have."

"Alright," Chloe says, appeased. "So, tell me about this competition."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Whew, long chapters for this story… I gotta catch some sleep; I've been up all night. Leave me some reviews! Tell me how I did. : )


	4. True Love

**Chapter Four: True Love (by P!nk featuring Lily Allen)**

"Oi, the lovebirds are here! Finally pulled yourself out of bed long enough to get dressed and greet the morning dingoes, eh?"

Aubrey rolls her eyes immediately upon hearing Fat Amy's pseudo-greeting, and Beca wants to mirror the action – Aubrey can tell, because her DJ's entire expression falls flat but for the aggravated twitch at the edge of her mouth – but Beca restrains it, and forces a smirk to the surface, instead.

"I'm not about to apologize for getting laid, guys, so if that's your goal here then you should probably just quit while you're ahead."

Chloe giggles near Beca's side and covers her mouth with her fingers to stifle the noise as best as she can, purely for Aubrey's benefit, but Aubrey pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, anyway.

(Aubrey really doesn't think that remark was necessary.

She'd really like to tell Beca that, but Aubrey's still riding a hard wave of love and contentment this morning, and she doesn't really want to start an argument right now. Plus, she thinks it'll be more difficult for the Bellas to understand this if she and Beca start the morning off with a disagreement.

Still… it's completely unnecessary, and Aubrey wonders how she managed to fall so deeply in love with the most exasperating creature she's ever encountered in her entire life.)

"Get it, shawty!" Cynthia-Rose calls out playfully, grinning wide and apparently forgetting her discomfort of the night before in favor of teasing her friends.

"Don't you guys have some rehearsing to do?" Aubrey suggests temperately.

Beca chuckles, and makes to reply, but Stacie cuts her off by scoffing and announcing, "Oh no. We got the brush-off last night, ladies – which is acceptable _only_ because you two were _obviously_ in desperate need of a good fuck – but we're getting our answers today, so buckle up and hunker down, aca-bitches, and tell us what the hell is going on."

"They're dating!" Chloe grins excitably, saving Aubrey and Beca the trouble, even if Aubrey isn't exactly sure that it's intentional. "You guys interrupted their first date, so… you kinda suck," Chloe teases.

"You guys _totally_ suck," Beca disagrees. "There's no 'kinda' involved. You all completely, totally _suck_," she insists.

Aubrey snorts, but internally agrees (wholeheartedly) that they could have happily brought their evening to completion without the help of their ever-intruding friends.

"Dude, _how?_" Stacie asks incredulously. "I mean, I can see some seriously wild sex, but…" She trails off with a mildly contemplative look in her eyes that Aubrey thinks turns a little darker than the leggy brunette had intended, and her thoughts apparently escape her, because Stacie never actually finishes the sentence.

"Stacie," Peyton sighs, clearly less adjusted to Stacie's constant mind-in-the-gutter behavior than the veteran members of the group, "_focus_."

"Right. Sorry," Stacie shakes her head, and flashes a fleetingly sheepish glance at the two freshmen standing close together.

"I think what she meant," Ashley hesitates, rounding the conversation back on point, "was that you guys sort of… fight," she tries to keep her voice neutral and her words inoffensive – Aubrey can hear it. But Ashley's effort fails when she feels the need to add, three short seconds later, "Like, _all the time_."

(That part mostly just echoes Stacie's previous incredulity, Aubrey thinks, and even though she's imagined this conversation a dozen or so times since the night before, Aubrey still doesn't know how she's actually meant to react to it.)

"I'm really not sure what you'd like for us to say," Aubrey sighs out earnestly.

It's true, though, and she can see that Beca is thinking similarly, because the DJ looks frustrated and helpless all at once, and Aubrey hates that. She knows Beca's waiting for a rejection from her friends, because she's used to that sort of thing, but even though Beca's used to it, Aubrey isn't sure if Beca could take it after letting the Bellas worm their way into her life and through several of her cripplingly powerful emotional gates.

(Beca is extremely sensitive, even if she'd deny the notion to her dying day.

She doesn't make friends – not like the Bellas, Aubrey knows, because of Beca's confession the year before, and because Beca's told Aubrey stories of her childhood, and not one of them features a close relationship with anyone but a lover – all of whom broke Beca's heart and never looked back to check on the damage.)

"Ehhh, I dunno about you flatbutts, but I'd really like to know how this got started," Amy announces.

Muttered assents echo through the room, and Aubrey thinks she'll do just about anything to end the interrogation, so she's entirely prepared to offer them the CliffsNotes version of their relationship just to take the attention away from them. But when she looks at Beca, the DJ looks wildly uncomfortable and starts fiddling with the strap to her laptop bag, avoiding the eager gazes of their friends, and Aubrey's by consequence.

Aubrey thinks she understands (she wants to, anyway, and is trying very hard), and she's pretty sure that Beca has accepted Chloe through more of her walls than most of the other Bellas, so she doesn't think that Beca actually _wants_ them to know how their relationship began. Because, where this morning in their kitchen Beca had been all bravado and smirking confidence when sharing with Chloe, now she is nerves and – Aubrey's heart shakes a little in her chest when she notices – trembling hands.

For Beca's sake, Aubrey frowns, and asserts, "I don't really feel that's relevant."

"Relevant my _ass_," Stacie scoffs dismissively. "I want the gossip, girls."

"It's _not_ gossip," Beca insists, abruptly vehement. She inhales sharply through her nose and lowers her voice a little before she continues. "And how we got together isn't important. The point is that we're together, and that's all you need to know."

Aubrey's fairly certain that the Bellas can hear the finality and steel in Beca's words just as well as she can, because most of them shift awkwardly on their feet, and the ones that don't simply avoid looking at her brunette lover, and turn to Aubrey instead.

Aubrey bites her lower lip and ignores them all, because, though she isn't sure why, she knows Beca well enough to understand that she's honestly upset, and Aubrey really wants a moment alone with her to figure out _why_, and to make it better for her. She just doesn't know when she's going to get the chance to do that.

"Okay, so you guys got us into this competition mess, and if we're going to do it, we're going to win, alright?" Beca asks expectantly.

The girls nod, and mumble their agreements, but they're clearly still a little uncomfortable and not entirely sure about where they had overstepped to upset their leader. Beca ignores it and begins anyway, continuing until the awkwardness has faded and been replaced by determination to dominate the Trebles.

(Aubrey can't really blame the girls for upsetting Beca, even though she wants to, because the Bellas actually don't keep many secrets from one another; they're a medley of unique characters, definitely, but they've grown into a strangely developed little family, and the concept of personal boundaries had been entirely thrown to the wolves by the ICCAs the previous year.

Beca, of course, was the exception.

It's always difficult for the Bellas to pivot from conversation with one another to conversation with emotionally-guarded Beca, and only a few of them actually know her well enough to actually understand which topics have the potential to be sore ones, even if they aren't always sure why.)

The first couple hours of rehearsal are rough. Aubrey marvels at Beca's patience – because she knows that she would never be able to manage such sincere tolerance, and the times that she had tried, it had emerged in the form of a false smile and even falser enthusiasm – but she can see the wrinkle of the DJ's brows against her forehead, and she knows that Beca's working really hard to keep her feelings at bay until all of this is over.

Beca eventually dismisses them for a break some twenty minutes later, and she instantly moves for a bottle of water, which she takes with her when she breaks through the swinging doors that lead outside. Aubrey ignores the guilt-stricken and intrigued glances from the girls and follows behind her lover without a word.

(Aubrey _can't_ blame them for upsetting Beca, for reasons already mentioned.

But still, she kind of does, because Beca's unhappy, and _someone _is at fault for that; and even if that weren't true, she's far more focused on correcting the damage they'd done, and too occupied with that to entertain their questions on how it had happened.

Aubrey still doesn't know, anyway, and she's intent to find out, now.)

When she finds Beca, the DJ is leaning against a tree several feet from the door, her head tipped back and her brown hair tangling against the bark behind her, with her plastic water bottle crinkling in her hand and, by now, half drained. Aubrey doesn't say anything at first; she simply moves up in front of her lover and wraps her arms around Beca's waist in silence, first offering physical comfort to soothe Beca enough for the verbal comforting part to actually happen.

Beca lowers her chin to fall against Aubrey's shoulder as she drops the water bottle to the ground, and raises her palms to circle them around Aubrey's neck. Beca's fingers stroke softly against Aubrey's skin – in thanks, maybe, or perhaps even a request for a little more time to gather her thoughts; Aubrey isn't sure – but it feels wonderful, so Aubrey remains silent a moment longer until Beca sighs, deep and tired, and her shoulders tremble a little with the obvious emotional exertion.

Still, Aubrey has to ignore the tremor that stretches up her spine when Beca's warm breath shudders across her ear.

"What is it, Beca?" Aubrey asks tenderly, slanting a delicate kiss against her girlfriend's temple.

Beca shakes her head, but doesn't lift it, and quietly replies, "I get that we had to explain it to Chloe. She's your best friend, and it's important for you to have someone you can talk to about us for when I'm an obnoxious ass and fuck everything up – because, let's be honest, that happens sometimes," Beca chuckles a little.

(Aubrey fights off her instinctual response to that husky chuckle, and manages to snort her agreement instead.

Plus, it's ridiculously sweet that Aubrey's need to talk her feelings out with her best friend had factored into Beca's reasoning for divulging the intimate details of their relationship with Chloe, and Aubrey's stomach flutters a little, too.)

"But Chloe – " Beca breaks off and sighs again. "Chloe's different. She didn't get it before, but she does, now. I think. Right?"

"Yes," Aubrey nods, still not very sure about where this conversation is going, but she knows that Beca has a point to make, and she can be patient until the brunette is ready to voice it. "She apologized to me this morning for not taking it seriously."

"But that's the thing," Beca hesitates. "No one takes us seriously."

Aubrey isn't sure what to say. Beca isn't wrong; the Bellas _don't_ take their relationship seriously. Not yet. But that's bothering Beca more than Aubrey had anticipated, and she doesn't know exactly what to do, because she still doesn't exactly understand _why_.

"And I don't _care_," Beca claims defiantly.

(It's not true.

Aubrey doesn't say so, because Beca wouldn't accept being called out on that, just yet – she's too hurt and upset, and she's busy trying to be strong and build her walls up to protect against those particular emotions – but Aubrey knows it isn't true.

Beca tries very hard not to care what anyone thinks of her. But Beca really cares about the Bellas, and they're her friends.

Beca cares a great deal what they think of her.)

"I don't care," Beca repeats again, softer, and weaker, like even she is having trouble voicing the lie. "But it's not a joke to me," she whispers, lifting her forehead to lean it against Aubrey's, and Aubrey's eyes tear a little when she finally grasps what this is about; why Beca is so inherently displeased with the girls' reactions to their relationship. "I'm serious about you, Aubrey. I love you. It's not a joke, and it's not _gossip_," Beca scoffs derisively. "I'm in love with you," she says again, sincerely, eyeing Aubrey with what is maybe the most intense and profound expression that Aubrey's ever seen anyone wear, and her heart stammers erratically against her ribcage in answer, echoing the deep emotion that Beca's working so hard to communicate. "And I know it was our decision to keep it from them for so long, because _we_ didn't even know what was going on with us," Beca sighs, detangling an arm from around Aubrey's neck to anxiously comb her fingers through her hair, "but I just- I'm kind of disappointed," she shrugs helplessly, her blue eyes sad and morosely defeated. "I wanted them to… I don't know," she shrugs again, refusing to finish the thought.

Aubrey swallows some of her feelings – and the lump that they had manifested into in the thick of her throat – down with difficulty, but replies softly, "I love you too, Beca. But this is- what we expected," Aubrey treads cautiously.

Beca nods, and reluctantly admits, "I know. But I guess I was hoping for something better."

Aubrey bites her lip for a moment, eyes scanning Beca's face while she nods just a little and considers their situation. Eventually, she says slowly, "I'd like to say that it doesn't matter what they think, because that's what people say – but we both know that isn't true. I care what they think. And I'm pretty sure that you do, too, otherwise this wouldn't bother you," Aubrey eases gently. "But I'm serious about this, too, Beca. And you're right; explaining everything to Chloe was good for her. And, I think, maybe even good for us?" She says, but Aubrey can hear that it sounds like a question, and, though she hadn't realized it when she'd said it, she does sort of want Beca's opinion on it.

Beca nods slowly, and agrees, "It was- kind of nice, I guess. To talk about it," she tries to explain, awkward and uncomfortable.

Aubrey grins, despite herself and the solemnness of their conversation, because Beca Mitchell is just _too_ cute with all of her fumbling emotional incapacities, even if Aubrey hates herself a little for being so susceptible to such sentimental notions.

"But I think telling the other girls about how all of this started will make them think that this is just… _sex_," Beca says, flushing a bit.

(Beca's very good at teasing, and at using her words to do it, but when discussing sex in decidedly non-sexual atmospheres, she grows adorably embarrassed, and often can't quite tame her body's physical responses to it.

Aubrey won't confess it aloud, but she sometimes toys with Beca's reactions for personal amusement. She enjoys winding Beca up.)

Aubrey chuckles, and tips her mouth to fold across Beca's once, then twice, before she teases against Beca's lips, "We're good at sex, though."

Beca rolls her eyes and nudges Aubrey a little, so Aubrey laughs as she stumbles backward some. But when she brings herself back to her lover, Aubrey presses herself flush against Beca, dragging her palms beneath the edge of the DJ's top to dip her fingernails into the brunette's hips, which she holds steady once Beca's back is fully cornered against the tree behind her.

"We're _very_ good at sex, Beca," Aubrey husks into Beca's ear, and flits her tongue across the shell of it until the brunette shivers and gently raises her hand to palm Aubrey's cheek, lightly easing her away from the sensitive area so that Beca can see her.

"I _know_ that, Posen," Beca says, amused. "But this is still more than that."

"I know," Aubrey sobers a little, loosening her hold on Beca's hips and sighing. "But we have time, Beca. I'm not going anywhere. If they can't see it now, they will. They just need to see us together a little more, that's all."

"It's just- frustrating!" Beca cries abruptly. "Like, we spent so much time getting over all of _our_ hang-ups about this; I don't want to deal with theirs once we've finally found a comfortable place to settle in," she frowns.

"I know," Aubrey murmurs again, deeply touched by how much Beca's feeling about this, even if she hates that the DJ is so troubled. "I know, sweetheart. But they'll get there. And until then," Aubrey deliberately drops her voice a few octaves and purrs, "I don't really care that they'll be thinking we're just having sex. Because that's definitely going to be happening, too."

Beca exhales a hard breath through her nose. "Seriously? I thought I was the immature one in this relationship," she huffs, but blushes until her cheeks are a little pink and her eyes skittishly avoid Aubrey's, due to her embarrassment.

Pleased, Aubrey shrugs carelessly, and airily announces, "I'm happy, Beca. I'm happy with us, and with you, and I know that you're frustrated, but I want you to be happy with me. And sex," Aubrey teases, "_always_ makes you happy."

"Sex _does_ make me happy," Beca concedes with faux reluctance and a crooked grin that instantly has Aubrey swooning on her feet.

(Beca's usual smirk is hot and infuriating all at once, and her smile is beautiful – rare, and soft and sweet, and just _beautiful_ – but this grin, this crooked little quirk at the edge of Beca's mouth that's lazy and relaxed and playful… It's _devastating_ to Aubrey. She isn't sure what it is about it, specifically, but this expression is Aubrey's downfall, every single time.)

She hadn't planned to do it, but that _grin_, and Aubrey's fingers clench tight around Beca's hips as she descends over the DJ, bringing their mouths together with such furious heat that their teeth crack together with the force behind it. Beca moans under her and sweeps both palms upward until her fingers fist in Aubrey's hair, holding her in place and tugging sporadically, just enough that Aubrey can feel the sting against her scalp until it races down her back and perches in her gut.

When Beca pulls away to gasp for breath, Aubrey shifts her attentions to Beca's jaw, moving down it to suck harshly against the mark she'd claimed at Beca's throat, dragging her teeth across the bruise until Beca hisses inward.

"Fuck," Beca moans, and Aubrey's sex floods a little when the noise reaches her ears. "Aubrey," she tries, but Aubrey is, for the moment, very focused on her ministrations, and chooses to ignore her. "Bree," Beca calls again, but Aubrey neglects to acknowledge her a second time and happily flicks her tongue across the hickey once more. She hums softly against Beca's skin, knowing how easily the vibrations distract her lover, and she feels remarkably proud when Beca trembles against her. "Jesus Christ, Aubrey, _rehearsal_," Beca insists breathlessly, fingers curling tighter in Aubrey's blonde locks like maybe she's considered just _pulling_ Aubrey away from her, but she can't quite bring herself to do it.

"You _are_ the captain," Aubrey purrs into her ear. "Practice starts when you say it does, Mitchell. And they're still on break. I don't think they mind," she offers, very blasé about the whole thing and entirely opting to ignore that, as a Bella and a former leader for the group, she shouldn't really be saying any of this.

But, as loyal as Aubrey may be to the Bellas, she's infinitely more devoted to Beca Mitchell.

(And Aubrey wasn't lying. Sex _does_ make Beca happy, so teasing the brunette with a little taste of happy can't really _hurt_, Aubrey convinces herself, even as she feels her own arousal climbing.)

"I know, but- _oh my_ _God_," Beca breathes, as Aubrey purposefully grafts her nails down the length of Beca's stomach.

"That pretty much sums up my thoughts, too," a foreign voice declares huskily.

Beca coughs awkwardly while Aubrey blinks a few times to swim through the feeling of touching Beca – of kissing Beca and of loving her, too – in order to acknowledge that Stacie Conrad is standing behind her. And Aubrey has Beca pinned against a tree.

(Aubrey's pretty sure that she wasn't _actually_ going to fuck Beca against it.

… Probably.

But she's also pretty sure that the thought of it is really turning her on, and that, with Stacie's interruption, she probably won't achieve the relief that she so suddenly finds herself in need of until much later.)

"Um… What is it, Stacie?" Beca asks uncomfortably, fingers finally releasing their hold on Aubrey's hair as Aubrey takes a small step back and drops her hands from Beca's waist.

"Oh, no," Stacie smirks, the expression conveying every filthy thought that Aubrey's _certain_ Stacie is thinking, and she wants to roll her eyes, "_please_ continue. Really. Watching you guys is better than porn, I swear."

"_Stacie_," Beca sighs irritably, while Aubrey manages to snort.

"Fine," Stacie huffs, disappointed. "We were just getting worried about you and thought we should check on things."

"I'm fine," Beca assures immediately.

"I can see that."

Beca huffs, but replies neutrally, "We'll be there in a second."

"Okay," Stacie grins. "Take your time," she winks salaciously. "Or don't. Quickies are always fun."

"Oh my God, _go,_" Beca instructs testily.

"Jeez, Posen, your girl must be real hot and bothered. You should really take care of her; you know, finish what you started," Stacie implies with a snicker, shoving through the door before Aubrey can form a reply other than a fierce blush.

"Now they're _definitely_ going to think it's just sex," Beca sighs theatrically.

Aubrey does roll her eyes, now. "If they were thinking it anyway, what does it matter, honey?"

"And what's with the exhibitionism?" Beca teases, ignoring that Aubrey spoke at all. "Seriously, Posen, is this a kink of yours?"

(Aubrey wasn't aware of it, if it was a thing she'd had before, but she still feels warm and _wet_ and the notion of fucking Beca in public kind of really _does_ get her hot, so she thinks it actually might be a thing, now, even if she's embarrassed by it.)

"'Cause, I mean, if it is, I can get on board," Beca says earnestly, but still teasing, and Aubrey definitely thinks it's a thing now, because a sharp pang of something needy and hot strikes in her belly as soon as Beca agrees to indulge her, "but I'm going to need you to behave yourself until this stupid competition is over," Beca grins lopsidedly.

(Aubrey swears that if Beca doesn't stop doing that thing with her mouth that they're _never_ getting back to rehearsals, and the Bellas can figure their shit out without them, because Aubrey will definitely be otherwise occupied, and dragging Beca Mitchell with her.)

"Stop," Aubrey sulks indignantly.

"What?" Beca asks innocently. "I'm just trying to figure out what my girlfriend needs from me in bed," she smirks. "Or, you know, against a tree."

"_Stop_," Aubrey insists again, whining a little, and laughing despite herself.

"Maybe I can find an empty classroom for us to play in," Beca drawls, chuckling as she moves toward the door and cracks it open, glancing behind her to meet Aubrey's lust-darkened eyes with glittering, amused ones of her own. "That could be fun. Is that public enough for you, baby?" She rasps quietly, keeping her tone lowered to prevent the girls from overhearing, but also succeeding in darting a tremor through the length of Aubrey's spine.

(Aubrey fleetingly thinks, oh the aca-gods, _yes_, that sounds remarkably and surprisingly appealing to her, and something along those lines almost pours from her mouth, too, but something else emerges, instead.)

_Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say  
Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face  
There's no one quite like you  
You push all my buttons down  
I know life would suck without you_

Aubrey isn't sure what prompts her to start singing, exactly, but singing has been the one thing in Aubrey's life that she's learned not to feel ashamed of, so when the lyrics begin erupting from her mouth and Beca starts walking backward with a heartfelt chuckle to watch her with that amused raise of her brows, and she tucks her smile between her teeth like, 'wow, okay, you're actually doing this; way to let loose, Posen, I'm super proud of you,' Aubrey doesn't think to question it, and simply proceeds.

(She kind of likes surprising Beca.

And she really likes watching the DJ's eyes light up whenever she hears Aubrey sing, too; Aubrey knows it's conceited, but Beca flatters her, and she relishes in the feeling. Aubrey likes having Beca's attention, and, even better, her affection.)

_At the same time, I wanna hug you  
I wanna wrap my hands around your neck  
You're an asshole but I love you  
And you make me so mad I ask myself  
Why I'm still here, or where could I go  
You're the only love I've ever known  
But I hate you, I really hate you,  
So much, I think it must be_

It's true, though; every word of this song is sort of the epitome of everything about her and Beca. Beca understands her better than anyone, even Chloe – especially when it comes to familial pressures – but that also means that the DJ knows how to detect, locate, and subsequently smash every single hot button in Aubrey's inventory with startling and infuriating accuracy.

Aubrey hates it.

_True love, true love  
It must be true love  
Nothing else can break my heart like  
True love, true love,  
It must be true love  
No one else can break my heart like you_

Beca chimes in to sing the chorus with her, still pacing backward with that amazingly sexy, uneven smile, which grows wider with every word they sing together, the meaning of the lyrics striking them both as absurdly appropriate.

Because even though Aubrey hates that Beca can push her buttons – and Beca does push them, with nauseating, maddening frequency – she also loves Beca for investing the effort and time to learn them to begin with.

(Aubrey is glad that Beca can't see the Bellas looking bewildered and entertained behind her, because she thinks that would probably upset Beca all over again, and she'd worked very hard to get the brunette feeling emotions that weren't quite so heavy.)

Their voices – Aubrey's dreamy soprano and Beca's husky alto – harmonize and meld together in the space of the auditorium, the acoustics serving them well until they bring the chorus to a close, and somehow both decide that the rest of the song isn't necessary. Because, really, Aubrey's already made her point – Beca irritates the hell out of her with her teasing, but Aubrey loves her, despite it – and Beca has already confirmed that she feels the same.

"That's a great song for you guys," Chloe remarks cheerfully. "I'm going to make sure they play it at your wedding," she teases, but there's a layer of amused sincerity behind it that makes Aubrey want to scoff.

Aubrey would chide Chloe for mentioning anything like a wedding – because it took them seven months to start _dating_, for Christ's sake, and a wedding is entirely premature – but the mention of something that impactful will probably help the Bellas understand that this isn't a passing fling, for her _or_ for Beca, so she bites back the admonishment.

"Whatever," Beca dismisses with an epic roll of her eyes. "Let's get back to rehearsal."

* * *

Aubrey volunteers to drive, knowing that, win or lose, Beca is most likely going to indulge in a few drinks tonight. They'd ended rehearsal two hours before the event so that everyone could go and grab dinner beforehand and change clothes.

(Aubrey teases Beca relentlessly when the DJ artfully chooses a light green and blue plaid shirt, to drape over her very green tank top.

Beca promptly orders her to shut up, and defensively argues that she's not about to spend all evening giving Jesse an excuse to flirt and pinch her arm for neglecting to wear green on St. Patrick's Day.

Aubrey reluctantly concedes defeat, because, really, she just can't argue with that.)

Aubrey only ends up riding with Chloe and Beca, and when they arrive, the party is already going; it's only a little past eight, but the whole place is loud and crowded, and the floors of the frat house they're in are already sticky with spilt beer – as usual – and littered with (mostly cracked) red and blue Solo cups.

(Aubrey doesn't exactly miss frat parties.)

The girls all find each other in the living room, eagerly chatting and discussing memorable notes about their upcoming performance. Aubrey stays close to Beca, because she knows the small brunette is anxious about it.

Aubrey can understand why; they've only had a day to prepare, and though they've made significant progress and sound really great, they could also sound better with more time and practice. The only soothing thing about it is that the Trebles have to suffer the same disadvantage, unless they elect to perform an older song, which wouldn't earn many creativity points with their audience, who have all heard those songs before at various events around campus.

(Still, if Aubrey had been the captain for this, she'd have spent the past three hours stress vomiting all over town.

Then again, Aubrey thinks, if she had been captain, the girls would never have dared to sign them up for such a last minute performance, anyway, in anticipation of exactly that reaction.)

"You're going to be fine, Beca," Aubrey murmurs soothingly, close to her ear, while she stretches her palm upward to rub softly against the back of the DJ's neck.

Beca nods, but confesses, "I really just want this to be over. I don't even know how they're scoring this thing, and that just seems like it leaves Bumper a really big opportunity to cheat, somehow."

"Nah, I got this, DJ," Fat Amy announces, slapping her palm over Beca's lower back and subsequently shoving her closer to Aubrey by mistake.

(Aubrey really doesn't mind; she steals the chance to wrap her arms around Beca's waist for stability, nuzzling her cheek softly against the brunette's hair, and staunchly ignoring the girls that giggle around her in reaction to the gesture.

She only releases Beca when she's sure that the DJ has regained her footing, but she curls both of her arms around Beca's to maintain contact, the fingers of one hand gripping around her bicep, and the fingers of the other lightly holding the brunette's forearm, refusing to move much further away from Beca than this until she's forced to.)

"Amy set up the system before we left last night," Jane explains. "Both captains get to choose ten randoms from the crowd to judge, and they rate each performance on a scale of one to ten."

Beca's brows furrow inward and she frowns, "But doesn't that mean that Bumper could pick people he already knows to give him higher scores?"

"Ehh, yeah, he _could_," Fat Amy shrugs offhandedly, "but no one actually _likes_ the pudgy git, anyway, so if he did that then it would only work in our favor."

(Aubrey doesn't exactly _mean_ to be petty, but she's entirely satisfied with Fat Amy's answer, because, aca-seriously… she's completely correct. Bumper's only friends reside within the Trebles, and even _they_ only like the guy because they have to.)

"Don't worry, Becs," Chloe smiles, smoothing her palm briefly down Beca's spine, "you're going to be aca-awesome."

Beca rolls her eyes (she never did grow completely accepting of their frequent use of aca- as a prefix), but shrugs, "So when is this thing starting, anyway? I thought you guys said eight."

Stacie makes to reply, but her words are dissected by the loud entrance of the Trebles, and Bumper's even louder (and more obnoxious) boasting.

"We are going to take you ladies _down_," he insists upon encountering Beca, pointing an index finger toward the floor for emphasis.

Beca's posture instantly straightens upon spotting him, and Aubrey scarcely withholds a smirk. Beca and her game-face are a force to be reckoned with, and even if Bumper won't show it, Aubrey knows there's no way that he isn't at least mildly intimidated by her.

"Yes, Bumper, _please_," Beca drones, her sarcasm approaching nearly uncharted heights, "wow us with your superiority."

"Oh, we will," Jesse teases good-naturedly from behind his leader. "Seriously, we're gonna rock this so hard that our aca-babies are gonna feel it, Becaw."

Aubrey's fingers absently tighten until her nails carve into Beca's flesh, but the DJ doesn't seem to mind, and she bumps her hip subtly against Aubrey's for comfort.

(Aubrey knows that he's a pretty decent guy, usually, but for serious, if he hits on Beca again – especially now that Beca is _hers_, she thinks, more possessive than she's ever felt before in her life – then Aubrey is liable to flat out just hit _him_.

And she thinks that experience could be wildly satisfying for her.)

"Dude, no," Beca rejects the notion with a judiciously deadpanned expression. "No to _all of that_."

Jesse shrugs, unfettered, and responds, "I guess I still have a few people to woo over, but, I mean, I'm pretty confident that this is going to work out for me."

"Yeah?" Beca asks, feigning curiosity and tipping her head to the left with narrowed eyes. "Well, you know, confidence only really works if you have the skills to back it up. And I'm pretty sure that you don't have them."

It's such a doubly-meant conversation that Aubrey almost has trouble coinciding that Beca's carefully aiming her insults not only specifically at Jesse for implying that he has the ability to win her over at all, but at the Trebles as a whole.

(Still, she's beyond pleased with Beca's immediate rebuff of Jesse's attempts, and she squeezes her fingers gratefully around Beca's arm, cautiously avoiding the use of her nails.)

"We'll see, bitches," Bumper guffaws conceitedly.

(If Aubrey had to choose just one trait – out of the oh so many that have been presented to her over her time at Barden – that most grates on her nerves about Bumper Allen, it's his undeserved ego. Beca expresses confidence – more of it than Aubrey knows she actually _has_ – but she never brags or puts others down when she puts it on display.

She's pretty sure Bumper's entire existence thrives on belittling others, and not only is it ridiculous, it's simply _tiring_.)

"Um… yeah, _you'll_ be seeing _us_ stomp you underneath our lady shoes until you're all just squibbly bits of shredded pride," Fat Amy says, nodding enthusiastically, apparently unable to prevent herself from engaging in Bumper's meaningless trash talk.

The Trebles aren't really sure how to respond to Fat Amy (Aubrey almost feels sympathetic, because sometimes she feels similarly, until she remembers that she hates them all and doesn't really care in the least that they're uncomfortable), so they mostly just frown and fuse their brows together in confusion.

"Riiight," Bumper drawls out uncertainly. "Let's get this thing started, bitches!" He regroups with a quickness that is almost admirable – _almost_, if Aubrey were capable of feeling admiration for Bumper Allen at all, ever. "I pick first!"

"Whatever," Beca dismisses carelessly, clearly unconcerned.

Bumper chooses ten people from their budding audience, who had congregated around them without notice as they exchanged insults and, in Jesse's case, flirtations.

Aubrey's mildly surprised by how willing their peers seem to participate (and effectively sacrifice their drinking time), but she knows that the campus' interest in acapella had grown significantly since their performance at the ICCAs, thanks to Beca's setlist, so she thinks they all must be pretty eager to witness a live performance.

Beca effortlessly selects ten volunteers, as well – some of whom had even eagerly raised their hands – and turns around to ask, "Who's going first?"

"We are. Obviously," Bumper scoffs derisively.

"Flip a coin!" One of the judges shouts out, with agreements swiftly following from his fellow evaluators.

Beca shrugs, draws a quarter from the depths of her pocket, and fairly hands it over to the judge who had offered the suggestion. Once the coin has been flipped (and found, eventually, somewhere between Donald's feet, because the judge isn't exactly sober enough to catch it in his palm), it's decided that the Trebles will perform first.

When the Trebles take the stage (which is actually just the center of the living room floor; it's a frat house, so Aubrey can't expect much better), she subtly tenders a kiss to Beca's shoulder, with the attention decidedly diverted toward the group readying to perform.

"The Trebles are good, but they're disbanded," she offers quietly. "You know they hate Bumper as much as we do, and after the ICCAs, they really just figured out that they don't even need him. They lack unity."

Beca smirks, and replies, "See, this is why I take my awesome girlfriend with me to impromptu competitions."

Aubrey rolls her eyes. "I'm just trying to help," she mutters, momentarily embarrassed by Beca's playful tone, tucking her face into the DJ's shoulder.

"I know," Beca replies softly, curving her neck to pleat a gentle kiss atop Aubrey's head. "I'm trying to say 'thank you,' but I guess I really suck at it."

"You do," Aubrey grumbles, but lifts her head up and grins, smacking a quick kiss to Beca's lips, "but you're welcome."

Beca smiles warmly down at her, and Aubrey's hands tremble a little with the affection embedded within her gaze, but she barely has time to mimic the smile before the beginning notes of the Trebles' song ring out.

Light notes begin, but Aubrey doesn't recognize the tune, really.

But Stacie scoffs behind her and stage whispers, "They have, like, _maybe_ one black guy in the group – because I'm not even sure _what _Uni is, ethnically – and they're going with T-Pain and Chris Brown?"

Beca shrugs. "They pulled off Flo Rida alright last year, so don't assume anything, yet," she says diplomatically.

(Aubrey knows it's silly, but she's a little proud of Beca for refusing to underestimate the Trebles and their innately talented members, even if they are a bunch of dicklicks, as far as personalities run.)

There's a faux phone call that Bumper and one of the unknown boys act out, but Aubrey isn't really concerned with any of that, because they aren't actually singing, yet. She's not really even concerned when Donald offers out a bassline, and Bumper begins the actual song, either.

_Hey, she want that lovey dovey  
Kiss kiss  
In her mind she fantasize 'bout gettin' with me_

_They hatin' on me_  
_They wanna diss, diss_  
_Because she mine and so fine, thick as can be_

They sound good, but not great; nothing to worry over, especially not since she's heard the Bellas, and knows that the song they've rehearsed sounds infinitely better, with Beca's sweet alto leading, and accented by Stacie's raw and sensual metzo at the chorus.

_I'm a country boy from Tappahannock, __**GA**__ is where I reside  
So shawty understand it and I know I just turned __**nineteen**__  
And I get a little mannish and you see this bandana hangin'  
That means I'm like a bandit like, like a bandit, bandit_

Aubrey isn't concerned, per se, when Jesse joins in; mostly just supremely furious, because he's smirking at Beca, offering that obnoxious little pointer finger in her direction, just like he did at the riff-off the previous year, and Aubrey _hates him so much_.

"Relax," Beca coos softly in her ear. "I'm in love with _you_, Bree."

Temporarily, Aubrey gathers herself, shooting Beca an apologetic look with frustration that lingers around the edges of her eyes. Beca simply looks mildly amused, but kisses her jaw, anyway.

When Aubrey tunes back in, she thinks she's missed a verse or two, but she distinctly hears Jesse sing out the next verse, eyes directed solely on Beca, who returns his gaze with a seriously disinterested one of her own before he presses onward.

_I'm the epitome of this demonstration, I got the remedy  
You feelin' me, so why is you hatin' on my anatomy  
It's bird like, yeah, you heard right  
Girl, I'm the king so that means I'm fly, fly_

Aubrey actually _cackles_ at the unbidden accuracy of the words, and Beca laughs, too, mumbling to herself, "Dude, you just don't have a fucking _clue_, do you?"

A couple minutes later, and the group rounds off their performance, Bumper – in what he calls his 'signature move' – dropping the microphone to the floor with a _whoosh_ and subsequent _thud_, and falling into a split that the tightness of his jeans won't even allow him to complete.

The crowd applauds, and even roars a little. The judges collaborate with giggles and grins, joking briefly about how they feel like they're on The Sing-Off, before they hold up their square cards (generously offered by the frat boys hosting the event), with stark numbers written on them in Sharpie.

There are a couple sixes, a number of sevens and eights, and two of them had even granted nines, but none of the judges scored a ten for the performance. Aubrey quickly calculates the numbers in her head, and when Beca turns to her, brows raise curiously, Aubrey declares, "Seven point five."

Beca nods contemplatively, and barely responds when Bumper meanders over to overconfidently announce, "Beat that, Bellas." The Bellas simply take the 'stage' a moment later, Aubrey reluctantly surrendering Beca to the crowd's eager and rowdy subjections.

Their performance isn't exactly new to Aubrey, having witnessed it all morning and afternoon, but the threat of losing to the Trebles in front of an audience is more real to them now, so they put forth a bit more effort, and just a bit more enthusiasm, too.

(Aubrey hadn't exactly prepared for the effect that this song now has on her, though.

It had taken a good half hour or so to tame her inhibitions after the stunt that she had pulled with Beca outside the auditorium earlier, and she had carefully monitored it so that her needs didn't rise again.

But, here, she'd been so distracted by the Trebles' performance that she hadn't watched her libido as carefully as she ought to have, apparently, because with Beca confidently belting out the lyrics to the song that she'd so effortlessly aroused Aubrey with just the night before, she begins to feel hot all over again.)

"Oh my God," she murmurs, dropping her head back to eye the ceiling instead of her brunette lover.

"Bree?" Chloe nudges her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she replies back, even though she doesn't quite feel that way at all.

"They're doing _really_ well," Chloe beams excitedly. "I think they'll beat out the Trebles, too. Beca's really good at this captaining thing," she says cheerfully.

_Beca's really good at a lot of things_, Aubrey thinks reflexively, but doesn't dare voice it.

The DJ's voice is buzzing through Aubrey's _soul_, she's pretty sure, even though it sounds cliché and just… _stupid_, but it feels awfully accurate.

(It probably doesn't help that she's distinctly recalling being fucked in the kitchen, either, with Beca's quick, nimble fingers ramming hard in her core and her teeth sinking into Aubrey's collar, but Aubrey's remembering it all in vivid detail, anyway, and, Jesus Christ, she really needs Beca to touch her, right now.)

Stacie is groping herself on stage, as per usual, when the song draws to a close, enrapturing most of the boys in attendance. Aubrey sees Beca avoiding the crowd to make her way back to Aubrey's side, and she scarcely allows time for the chaos of applause and shouted praise to reach Beca's ears before she takes her hand, shoving a startled Beca into the nearest bathroom she can find and latching her mouth to the brunette's with heat and desire that she's never actually felt so powerfully.

"Shit," Beca grouses into her mouth when her lower back rams against the ledge of the sink, but her hands find Aubrey's ass and hip with ease and familiarity, gripping tight until Aubrey moans into her mouth. "What's _happening_?" She breathes, desperately confused as Aubrey's mouth flickers down her throat and bites down, _hard_.

"Just fuck me, Beca," Aubrey demands strictly as Beca cries out a little, too hot and far too needy to bother with an explanation that she can't actually fathom, at the moment.

Beca, for all of her innate defiance, responds to that particular instruction with amazing effortlessness.

She flips them around, pushing Aubrey against the sink, instead, and drops to the floor, her dexterous fingers undoing Aubrey's jeans and swiftly drawing them down to her knees. Beca's mouth finds her core not a moment later, and Aubrey's fingers knot in Beca's hair with unintended force as she moans, long and relieved and not at all suppressed.

"Fuck," she vaguely hears Beca murmur.

(Aubrey assumes that another comment about her wetness is about to issue forth from the DJ's mouth, but, damn it, she doesn't have the time or the patience for that, so she uses her hold on Beca's hair to wordlessly order her back to her task.

Beca resumes without any further difficulty.)

Beca laps at her clit, raising her hands to palm Aubrey's upper thighs and hold her in place when Aubrey begins rocking against her. The brunette's fingers dig further into her legs when Beca's teeth drag across the sensitive cluster of nerves and Aubrey's hips buck forward.

"Beca," Aubrey groans. "Oh my – Jesus _Christ_, Beca, _inside_," she hisses, feeling herself teetering at the edge (and firmly deciding not to feel embarrassed about the fact that it had taken all of two minutes for Beca to get her there), and desperate to fall over it, which she knows won't happen until Beca's tongue is buried within her.

Beca obediently obliges, dragging one of her hands around to rub tight circles over Aubrey's clit the moment that her tongue thrusts inward, and Aubrey throws her head backward with a gratified yelp of pleasure.

"God, yes, Beca. Don't stop," she pants out, even though she's fairly certain that isn't a risk, and she feels Beca's efforts gain speed.

It takes another minute, _maybe_ a minute and half – no longer – before Aubrey crashes into a toe-curling orgasm that actually makes her scream, caring very little for whether or not the guests outside the bathroom door can _hear_ her.

"Damn, that was hot," Beca murmurs, sitting back against her heels and looking up at Aubrey with lustful eyes and a sluggish smile that lazily trips across the corners of her mouth. "_How _the actual_ fuck_ did I not know about this exhibitionist kink before today?"

"Don't ever sing that song in public again," Aubrey breathes, electing to ignore the rhetorical question altogether.

"Um… if this is the reaction I get out of it, I'm gonna sing that song in public every day for the rest of my goddamn life," Beca refutes with a satisfied smirk.

Aubrey chuckles airlessly, and bends her knee to tap it mock-chidingly against Beca's shoulder, but the DJ simply laughs and tugs Aubrey's jeans upward, dotting a gentle kiss just above them after she buttons them back in place.

A hard pounding on the door has them both raising their brows at one another, before Stacie shouts out, "Get out of there, you crazy nymphos! All the other bathrooms are taken, Amy and I just downed six shots out here, and I have to _pee_!"

The irony of being called sex addicts by Stacie Conrad is not lost on either of them, but Beca quickly rinses off her face and hands, frowning when she realizes that of _course_ frat boys don't keep hand towels, and she wipes them on the back of her jeans, instead.

"We better get out of here," Beca suggests, grinning wolfishly.

"Mm," Aubrey hums contentedly, combing her fingers through Beca's hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

(Aubrey doesn't actually mind that it doesn't work at all, because, God, Beca's hair is magnificent all the time, but especially when she's just had Aubrey's fingers tangled all in it, and she looks sexier than anything Aubrey's ever seen.)

"Come on, DJ," she winks a little and tucks her mouth over the corner of Beca's, whispering lowly, "I have a sexual favor to return."

"Those are the best kind," Beca chirps back, pleased.

Aubrey chuckles, takes her hand, and cracks the door open, finding not only Stacie, but half of the Trebles outside the door and a number of frat boys that Aubrey's never even met, grinning wide and flashing dirty glances in their direction. Aubrey rolls her eyes and ignores them as Stacie shoves past them, hovering momentarily in the doorway.

"Also, we won," she beams proudly. "We scored an eight point two."

"Oh," Beca blinks, like she's forgotten (and is now reminding herself) that they'd performed at all. "Sweet," she grins, pleased.

"I see you celebrated appropriately," Stacie winks.

"Beca?" Jesse interjects, looking wounded and hurt.

Stacie apparently forgets about her urgent need to relieve herself, and walks toward him, resting her hand teasingly against his chest.

"I don't think so, big guy," she purrs against his cheek. "Beca is Posen's girl, now, so you're gonna need to back off. But, hey," she says, withdrawing to return to the restroom, "I'm happy to offer any consolation I can," she offers earnestly over her shoulder, throwing an extra wink at him to be sure he caught her _blatant_ meaning.

Beca smiles at her turned back – not crookedly, or that wide, happy grin that she sometimes can't contain, even in the company of others, but that slow, sweet, soft creation that only Aubrey has ever been on the receiving end of, until now. Aubrey takes Beca's hand and offers a genuine, grateful smile at Stacie, too, because she understands why Beca's so pleased with their friend.

Stacie just bestowed respect upon their relationship. Even though the taller brunette understands how sexual Beca and Aubrey can get – because she's now interrupted their not-so-PG intentions _three_ _times_, in less than forty-eight hours – she also knows, somehow, that there's more beneath the surface, and she's willing to defend their relationship to others, if it makes Aubrey and Beca happy.

And if _Stacie _– who fools around like it's a fucking religious practice – can understand it, Beca and Aubrey both know that the rest of the Bellas will eventually come around, too.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ And that's all, folks. Let me know what you thought! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you guys enjoyed reading it just as much. : ) Also, the bolded words are lyrics altered for the Trebles' performance!


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